


All the Way

by BenLMoore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, Bottom Sam, CPS, First Time, Foster Care, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Pining, Poverty, Underage Sex, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:14:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8685361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenLMoore/pseuds/BenLMoore
Summary: One of the brothers strives to reunite despite a court-ordered separation.





	1. Then

**Author's Note:**

> The only thing as rewarding as writing is hearing from you! Thank you so much for thoughtful comments and kudos.
> 
> Please HEED the warnings!

[ ](https://imgur.com/WEtNOtx)

CHAPTER 1 - THEN

DEAN

Just because I'm sorry doesn't mean I wouldn't do it again. Never hear me say I was a good person. Now, Sam? Sammy was always fucking perfect. He was this flawless slice of All-American apple pie with an effortless 4.0 GPA that never faltered, no matter how much we got shoved around. By the time he was 13, the kid could damn near outrun me with those mile long legs of his. Not quite, but I always had to work harder than I should have to leave his skinny ass in the dust.

Me? I was what I've always been: nothing special. And still, he would gaze up at me with all that little kid adoration. No matter how much or in what ways I’d fucked up, Sam was always there, looking up to me. If you ever had anyone that perfect look at you the way he used to look at me, you wouldn't judge. You might even understand how I could do what I did.

SAM

Truth be told, my brother was a little bit ridiculous, but in the best way possible. For one thing, he swaggered around like he was God’s greatest gift to the planet. But he wasn’t even half the asshole he pretended to be. That’s just how he shielded himself from people and their assumptions. They’d take one look at that pretty face and decide he was either a jerk or something to be played with. They’d see our threadbare clothes and try to make us into some charity case. So, Dean strolled around with his chest poked out. He laughed too loud with a corny, dirty joke for every occasion.

But I knew him. The dyslexia didn’t make him dumb. The night terrors didn’t make him any less brave. None of his stupid throwaway girlfriends knew about that. When he got nabbed for stealing candy bars or sodas, it was never for any of them. It was always for me.

Dean had every right to strut. And I kind of loved to see him like that, even if it was put on and slightly ridiculous. As far as I was concerned, he was God’s gift: to me.

DEAN

Other perfect things about Sammy-boy: he always tasted like a Snickers bar. He always smelled like he’d been running for hours, even if he had just been lying around reading all day. Boy sweat and chocolate. I never said I wasn’t a pervert.

The way he felt was fucking amazing. Like nothing and nobody else.

And when my baby brother came, he was way too loud. It used to send a surge up my spine like you wouldn’t believe. It was the kind of thing you could lose yourself in, if you weren't careful. It was just too loud.

I’m not blaming him. I know better than that. I know the whole thing was completely my own fault. I’m just saying. He was a loud little fucker. 

“Sammy, shhh.” I hissed, like that was going to help.

Something had to be done to muffle all that goddam gasping and groaning. He was practically screaming. Usually, a sock shoved between his teeth would do the trick. But of course, on this particular occasion, I had forgotten to bring one, so I just covered his open mouth with my palm. Hated to do it, too. He was so fucking hot like that.

Those slender fingers clawed deliciously at my back. His body wound up tight like a snake and then, went suddenly rigid beneath me. Sam’s slick trickled hot all over my fingers. When he threw back his head, I clamped my teeth down over that salty throat like a vampire or something. He shuddered so sweet, “Fuck, Dean.”

The kid loved that shit. Liked it rough.

I had already come, hard, coating up his insides good. I tried to pull out, but he tilted his slim hips up, chasing mine. He clasped his ankles behind my back so that I couldn’t get away.

“Well, shit, boy.” I slapped his thigh and chuckled when he whimpered.

One smooth, smallish hand stroked my face. Fingers ghosted over my forehead and down the tip of my nose. The other massaged my neck as he gazed up with those big, innocent eyes. Still catching his breath, he smiled, “You love me?”

He only asked because he already knew the answer. “All the way, Sammy. All the fucking way.”

I burrowed my face in his neck and tugged the blanket up over our heads. He laughed and nipped at my chin.

“Want me to tell you ghost story?”

“Shut up.” He tweaked my ass.

He used to love that when he was a little kid. Really little. We’d curl up under the blankets in whatever shithole motel our dad had left us in. I would tell him a ghost story. Or go over the plot of some movie we had both seen on late night TV. Hell, he even liked fairy tales, as long as they were about us slaying dragons and living happily ever after.

“Too stuffy.” Sam pulled the covers down so we could actually breathe again.

I just lay there basking in that warm, earthy Sammy smell. I felt like a pig up to my ears in shit. Some things are just inexplicably good. And Sam? Sam was always impossibly good. Like blow my fucking mind, driven to distraction good.

Perfect. Laying there, fucked out, with those long arms, coltish legs, his tight hole still wrapped around me. When I tried to pull away from the minty fresh, Crest-flavored kiss, he caught my bottom lip between his teeth. I could feel him grinning against my mouth like cat caught the canary. So sweet. So good. So impossible. I was so completely lost in that boy, it didn’t make any sense.

Which is the only reasonable explanation for why I didn't hear the knob click or the door creak open. “You boys allri…”

Light flooded into the bedroom. My heart sank into the pit of my gut and stopped beating for long enough to wish I was dead. In one hand, our foster father, Mr. Singer held his shotgun. Not a threat. It just hung low, like he was satisfied that there was no immediate danger. He’d gone looking for a burglar and found… well.

“Get offa him, Dean, you little pervert.” The old man fisted his free hand in my hair and hurled me across the room.

Sam vanished under the cover.  
I can’t say it didn’t cross through my mind that Mr. Singer might drag me out back and put a bullet in my head. But he just punched the shit out of me.

Still on the floor, I scrambled and pressed my back up against the far wall. I shielded my limp dick with one hand, even though it was way too late for modesty. Or for the stuttering explanations I was trying to come up with.

Mr. Singer just kept shaking his head with his fist curled and his nose turned clear up to the ceiling. “What the hell is wrong with you, boy?”

His wife showed up in the door frame in one of those frumpy, old lady night gowns and some kind of bonnet on her head. Under normal circumstances, Sam and I would have had a field day with that. But she was scowling down on me like I was the spawn of Satan. And somehow, it just wasn’t all that fucking funny.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mr. Singer, again with the questions.

It couldn’t have been more obvious what I was doing. What could I possibly say? What would you say if you had just been busted fucking your 13 year old baby brother?

SAM

I just hid. I didn’t know what else to do. I just cowered there under that blanket, like we were under a fricking zombie attack. It was too hot under there. Too stuffy. Not enough air. Not under the blanket. Not in the whole world.

It was too hot, but I was shivering. Ice water was leaking out of my pores.

I didn’t know what was going to come next. I just knew it wouldn’t be good. If I had had any idea at all, I would have done something. I would have done anything in my power not to let it happen.

I hid like a coward while they took my brother away. I can’t see anything topping that as biggest regret of my life.


	2. Then Again

DEAN 

Fuck hiking. The boots are okay. Eight hours on my feet, every fucking day? Not okay.

While we were out in the middle of nowhere, there was a gunshot. You should have seen this pack of morons hit the deck. All but one of the counselors/doctor people. He just stood there looking at us like we were crazy. Which, I guess is the reason we’re out here.

This one time, Sam and I were watching cartoons in this motel and a bullet came right through the glass. I knocked the kid on the ground and dove on top of him, just like I’d been through military training. 

I can’t really laugh. I dropped, too, when the hunter's shot rang out. Just goes to show the awesome surroundings we wayward hoodlums all grew up in. 

SAM

One deep breath to clear my mind. Gunshot. I’m off. Flying. Free.  
I don't care if I win or not. I feel almost good. For a change.  
I wonder where Dean is. If he’s thinking about me.

DEAN

Fuck writing. Sam is probably the only person on earth who can make sense of this chicken scratch. I peek around the otherwise empty cabin to make sure there’s no one there to hear me rip the pages out of the notebook. 

Mandatory journal bullshit. Every entry addressed to my little brother. 

Shit. The door swings open. I shove everything under the pillow. Dr. Novak comes in and hovers. He’s this solemn, dark haired freak. Seems to get off on all the god damn walking. I’ve already told him, he can shove it. I’d rather clean up trash from the side of the road. Not an option. Court mandate and I’m stuck with this Outward Bound bullshit.

“How's it going, Dean?” He’s got this voice that sounds like he’s been gargling with gravel.

“It’s going, Doc.”

“Just wanted to let you know if you want to talk, in private, any time…” The good doctor’s blue eyes flick down at my mouth. 

And there. That. Right there, is my opening. Sure, everyone looks at my mouth. I might as well wear a fucking T-Shirt that says, “Hey Asshole, Look at My Mouth.” But that is not always a bad thing. 

Doc Novak turns and starts to leave. I call him back and go so far as to pat the foot of my bed. He takes the bait and I’m in heaven. But I play it cool. Cross my ankle over my knee.

“Your name is Castiel, right?”

He tucks his hands between his knees and nods with this earnest look on his face. This guy is going to be a cakewalk.

“What is that, Italian?”

He purses his lips into a smile, “It’s actually a little village in Switzerland. Where my folks met. It’s kind of a story.”

Whoa. I didn’t ask for your entire bio, dude. I nod and shut that shit down. Not the direction I’m trying to take this talk. “Your friends call you Cas?”

“Some do.”

I sidle up closer to his side. He doesn’t even flinch. “So, Cas, what’s a guy got to do to get a letter out of here?”

I pull the folded pages out from under my pillow. He just blinks down at them. 

“How about a little sugar?”

He half puckers and gives a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

I can’t help but smile. I didn't expect it to be this easy. Hell, I might even be able to get this guy to bring me messages back. If Sam writes. If he feels like it. I guess I can't make him, but ... no. It's Sammy. He'll write.

I lean in to seal the deal. Dr. Novak… Cas’ lips part. At least, he’s pretty good looking. This won't be too bad. And Sam'll understand. If I even tell him. Maybe I won’t mention it. But he’s smart. And if he figures it out on his own… It doesn’t matter. I just need to get this to him and be sure that he forgives me. For everything. 

“So, how often do you leverage your attractiveness for favors?” Novak’s face is perfectly blank. No trace of lust or anything other than professional curiosity.

I jerk back and slide up to my pillow. “Asshole.”

 

SAM

This test is basically an insult. I fill in the last bubble and march up to Mrs. Harvelle’s desk. She’s young and blond. She’s the kind of teacher Dean would think was hot. I guess a lot of guys think she's hot. Maybe she is. I don’t know. 

Her eyebrows perk up. “Done already? Why am I surprised?”

She leans forward when I place down the Scantron. I train my eyes on the blackboard while her gaze slowly sinks to my crotch and back up to my face. “I saw you run.”

Good for you.

I don’t say that, of course. That would be belligerent. And I’m a good kid. Great student. Star athlete. Model fucking citizen. So, I smile and hoist my bag onto my shoulder. As I’m leaving the room, somebody mutters the word. “Asshole.” 

DEAN

Next thing you know, they’re going to have us holding hands, singing Kum Ba Yah. Sammy used to love that campfire shit when he was little. If they do it, though, I’m out. I don’t care if I have to swim across the fucking lake, stumble through the woods and ride with some funky trucker down off this mountain. 

The kid next to me is named Travis. We all know he burned down his grandmother’s house. What I just now found out is that his grandmother and his uncle were in that shit when it went down. Damn. Where do they find all these fucked up kids?

Travis is kind of curled over on himself, sobbing like a huge, sweaty, pyromaniac baby. A couple of guys come over and wrap an arm on his shoulder. Pussies.

“What about you, Dean?

I squint over the flame at the good doctor. “What about me, Cas?”

“You have anything you want to share?”

“You know what? I’m going to go with my usual and say Fuck you.”

That earns me a few snickers. Travis looks personally offended. You know what? Fuck Travis, too. Fuck all of these douchebags.

The fire heckles. Spits hot at my face. Fuck you, too, fire. 

 

SAM

Mario’s on my left. Eric on my right. Arms crossed over my back. Mine are curled around theirs. Both of their eyes are closed. In fact, all the guys have their eyes closed. Even the coaches. Are they serious? Do they really think Jesus gives a shit how this game turns out? Do they honestly believe that if God existed, He would have nothing better to do than to make us play better?

It’s perfectly obvious to me that if God exists, God is a sadistic, capricious shit. I would much rather accept that there is no God, no order, no fucking justice and rely on myself. The way I used to rely on my big brother. Let the chips fall where they fall. 

Coach growls Amen. My teammates murmur Amen. I say Amen. 

DEAN

Up there on that mountain, with all of God’s creation spread out like an all-you-can-eat buffet, it occurs to me that I’m like a drop of grease in the bottom of the bacon bin. Tiny. Insignificant.

The dawn up here is fucking magnificent. The sunlight is all coral and flame and absolution. It’s like everything Cas has been preaching for the last, damn near a year - about childhood trauma, emotional misplacement and personal responsibility…  
Everything he’s dredged out of me - from my mother’s murder all the way up to the last fucking time I saw Sam…  
Every word him and the other counselors and all these lost boys in my troop have exchanged for the last eleven months … It all just slams home like a fucking MAC truck. 

Here I am, at the top of the world, all raw and open. I can’t even explain why all these hands on my shoulder are such a fucking revelation. All I know is that I’m bawling like a little girl. Crying for every dumb damn thing I ever did to my brother. Good, sweet Sammy. God. I am so fucking sorry. 

“Let it out, Dean. Just. Let it all out, man.” Cas and all the lost boys patting my back. 

And I'm crying for my beautiful dead mother. At least she never had to see what a fuck up her older boy became. My pitiful father, wherever the fuck he is. It’s like I’m crying for every awful thing that ever happened in the history of the goddamned world. Crying until I'm gutted. Empty. Hollow as a fucking flute. 

And it feels awesome.

SAM

“Are we done?” Just like every Thursday evening for the last two years, I’ve wasted nearly an hour watching the second hand on the clock on Dr. Mills’ wall.

“The Singers. Your social worker … everyone thinks you’re doing really well.”

“Does that mean we can stop with this?”

She places her pen on top of her yellow note pad with a small sigh, “I’m not so convinced, Sam.” 

If Dean were in my position, he would have already fed her the garbage she wants to hear. He’d have her wrapped around his little finger and creaming her pants. I am so fed up with this. “I do what needs to get done, don’t I?” 

“Better than most people.” She has this look on her face, like she’s in some kind of physical pain. 

She has no fucking idea. 

“Exactly.”

“Success isn’t the same as healing.” Her voice is all soft and cloying and it’s kind of making me sick to my stomach.

“I’m fine.” Technically, it’s only 7:48, but I’ve had all the psycho babble I can take for one day.

“You know, Sam, I can’t help you…”

“I know.” I shoot to my feet and snatch up my backpack.

She rises to her feet, as well. “…if you don’t let me.”

The words trail off behind me as I fly out of the door. 

 

DEAN

This kid, Adam. Scrappy, blond. City kid. Not cut out for this wilderness shit.  
Good. That's how I know he'll get there. I see good things happening for this kid, if he can get it together.

I slap him on the back. He scowls like he would gladly slice out my spleen with a paring knife. God help me, I fucking love this job. 

 

SAM

“You cut a striking figure in that suit, Sam.” Mrs. Singer rests her hand on my shoulder.

Mr. Singer taps a fork against his wine glass, possibly purchased for just this occasion. Once he has everyone’s attention, he coughs nervously. “Karen.”

“I want to thank all of you for being here.” Turns out, she has to clear her throat, too. “My Bobby always wanted a son.” 

Misty eyes cut over to me from all over the room. Most of them, I know. Pastor Jim, Mrs. Singer’s… I’m supposed to call her Ma.

Just how much of a traitor would Dean think I was if he knew about this?

Mrs. Singer’s friends from the shop. A couple of Mr. Singer’s cop buddies… Pop’s. Who I never met before.

“Try though we might, it was not in the good Lord’s plans to give us one the old fashioned way. Now, we know that’s because He was waiting to send us this young man right here. Sam, your father and I love you very much. Everyone in this room loves you.”

Mr. Singer raises a glass. They all do.

He kisses Mrs. Singer’s forehead and slaps me on the back. “Short and sweet. That’s how I like speeches and women. Let’s eat.”

Even the old man’s eyes are a little damp and I know I ought to feel something. Gratitude. Resentment. A healthy blend of the two. I just don’t.

 

DEAN

“He said what, now?” I know my double take was a little on the exaggerated side, but I’m totally reeling from what Castiel just said and antics is how I deal. Sue me. 

“In a nutshell, that you propositioned him.”

Adam Milligan. That little shit. 

“And you believe that?”

“Isn’t the point. Dean.”

“I think it kind of is the point, Cas. Who are you going to believe here? The kid is a pathological fucking liar. It’s what he does. He’s spent the last ten years on the street, conning people in order to survive.”

“Look. I don’t like it, but if a kid makes an allegation, we have to do an investigation. You know the protocol."

Yeah. I know the protocol. I know the fucking protocol like the back of my hand. A kid makes a claim like that, the staffer is immediately put on leave, without pay. They do the whole investigation thing and then, maybe. Maybe the guy gets his job back, although I’ve never seen that happen. “This is a piping pile of bullshilt and you know it, Cas.”

He gestures to the seat in front of me. “Why don’t you tell me what did happen?”

I can’t sit down. If I sit down, I’m going to completely lose my shit. I had envisioned my self doing this job until … fuck, forever. This is the job for me. I was cut out for this job. I come from a fucked up background, like these kids. I have fucked up royally in my life, like these kids. And this job is my fucking redemption. What am I supposed to do now? “Nothing. Absolutely nothing happened, Cas, godammit.” 

“Did you hug him?”

Did I hug him? Yeah. “Yeah. He was crying. I put my arm on his shoulder. I’ve been through the training. I know good touch from bad touch.” 

“Did you tell him he reminded you of your brother?” Castiel’s face is a total blank. The guy must play a mean poker. It’s just a question, right? Just another question on the list of things he would ask any guy in my position. 

I did not tell Adam that he reminds me of my brother, but he does. That’s the only reason I hesitate before I speak. Adam reminds me of a mix of me and Sam. Smart, with so much mouth. Neither of our looks, but hey, you can't have everything. Unless you're Sam. But my brother was always the exception, not the rule. And I need to answer this fucking question. “No.”

“But he does.”

“Is that a crime now?”

“Of course not.”

I want to punch him right in his blank slate face. I knock the paperweight off Cas’s desk, instead because dammit, this is not how this was supposed to go. 

“We’re going to conduct the investigation and whatever’s best will come out of it, okay?”

“Yeah.” I get up and leave his office, because what the hell else is there to do?

SAM

“Sam, did you hear me?”

I didn’t hear him. I’m mesmerized by the pain in my knuckles. I stretch my fingers and curl my fist. Every little movement hurts so good. 

The little nerd, Matt, is cupping his own cheek. Massaging over the spot I struck. Glaring at me like I belong in a zoo. The look on his face is actually pretty hilarious. Dean would definitely get a kick out of it. 

“What the hell’s got into you, boy?”

I’m not being willful when I don’t answer. I honestly don’t remember whether the kid was antagonizing me or what. All I know is that if Coach hadn’t pulled me off of him, I would still be beating the living shit out of his harmless, little face. 

I just keep flexing my hand. Breathing hard. I can’t believe how much better I feel.

“Save it for the field, Singer.”

“Yes, sir.”


	3. Our Finest Gifts

DEAN

The problem with what we’re doing here is that it’s the fucking highlight of my day. I raise my hands and leap for it, but the damn can sails right over my head. It lands noisily with a metallic thud on the floor halfway up the beans aisle. “Seriously?”

Up on her ladder, my co-worker, Missy shrugs down at me. “Hey. They already busted.”

She tosses me another one. This one I actually manage to catch with a little hustle. I toss it into the shopping cart and wait for the next one.

Second week on this job. When we're real busy, I don't have too much time to think about anything other than helping people: bagging groceries, pushing carts. Mostly, though, it’s slow and boring with way too many chances for the mind to wander.

Tonight has been bearable, though. That’s 100% because of Missy. She’s the one who suggested we make this task a game. See, she’s tossing me the dented cans from the shelves. When the cart is full, I'll wheel them up front and build a pyramid. Mark them half off. Botulism. Only $.50 a can. Awesome.

Missy’s got this tiny boombox on the floor playing fucking Christmas music. Every now and again, she does a little shimmy to the funkiest version of Frosty the Snowman I've ever heard. She’s a big lady, but she can move. I have to chuckle when she does her dance.

Jingle Bells comes on and I can’t help but groan. “Really? The day after Thanksgiving?”

“12:01 AM on Black Friday, baby.” Another can careens through the air past me. “So, what you eat last night, Dean?”

“Uhm…” What did I eat? Oh yeah. “Couple hot dogs.”

You would have thought I said sulfuric acid, the way she’s gawking at me. “You kidding me?”

I shake my head and collect the errant cans off the floor into the shopping cart.

“Where’s your family?” Missy is plaguing me with this huge frown. It would be comical, if she didn’t look so fucking miserable.

“Don't really have any family.” I gesture for her to throw me the next one.

“At all?”

“Not really.” I’m not going into details. Already decided, nobody needs to know anything about me.

She tosses much better underhanded. “Girlfriend’s family wouldn't have you?”

Well, it was a bearable night before this we got into this conversation. I scratch my eyebrow. “No girlfriend.”

At that, Missy actually climbs down from her ladder and parks herself in front of me. The top of her tidy afro barely comes up to my throat. I’m not entirely sure where this is going, but I already know I don’t like it. I clear my throat as she cocks her head to the side and puts her palm right over my heart. My skin tingles warm beneath it, although she’s not even making contact with my clothes. Her dark eyes squint and her whole face scrunches, like I’m a crossword puzzle in a fucking Reader’s Digest. Even though there’s nobody else in the store, I search over my shoulders as if someone could catch us in this position.

“Cloudy. Maybe you haven’t met yet. Hard to say, but you definitely got somebody. Deep, too. Soul level. I don’t know if you ready for it, but most people would kill for a bond that deep. Be on the lookout, Dean. You got a bottomless love out there.”

“Right.” I don’t remember asking to have my fortune told. My eyebrows raise and I try not to let on how creeped out I am right now.

I step away from her and all the way around the shopping cart.

“So, if you weren’t with your family, what did you do?”

“Same thing I do every night.” I start searching the lower shelves for these dented cans. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we’re out of here.

Up the ladder she goes. “Why didn't you say something? Could have come ate with us.”

I don’t even know who ‘us’ is. But I guess Missy has a husband and a bunch of kids. Maybe grandkids. How old is she? I have no idea.

“Well, come Christmas, if you haven’t found your sweetheart yet, you come to my house. All right and don't say no. Settled. Okay?”

Just to make this conversation finally end, I nod. “Okay, Ms. Missy.”

“Just Missy, honey. I ain't that old.” She winks and lobs me another can.

 

SAM

I've been planning this for a month. It's just a matter of doing it.

The clock beside my bed blinks 1 AM. The Singers and the Morgans have been asleep for hours and won't be awake again until dawn.

I drag the already packed duffel out from under my bed, creep down the steps and out through the kitchen door.

DEAN

Sirens in the distance. Dull, rhythmic thud of bass somewhere closer. Down the hall, some lady is cussing out her man or her kids or whatever ‘fucking idiot’ is closest. In my luxurious studio apartment, that ol’ familiar pop-hiss of another can opening.

Lucky number 7. It usually takes about 8 to get to sleep. Almost there.

Stains on the walls and the carpet are getting a little bleary. Good sign. Good sign.

Sitting on the edge of the bare mattress. My fingers are about as graceful as sausages trying to unlace my second-hand sneakers. Fuck it. It’s too fucking cold in here anyway. In another week or so, I should be able to afford a decent sleeping bag at the army/navy.

The guy next door is named Rufus. He’s okay, but when he flushes his toilet I hear it through the wall. That’s just before the pipes start up this low, unholy howl. That means my shitter will be bubbling sewage and stenching up the place. Happens every god damn time.

I curl up and pull my jacket up over my eyes. My stupid fucking head hurts. I need to piss. Fuck it. I’ll get up when I can’t stand it anymore. Then, I’ll go and add my contribution to the collective waste of my pitiful neighbors before I flush it on down to the next asshole.

This place is basically hell. I hate to see the kids who live like this. Sorry little, half-wild urchins with their runny noses and too thin coats. Reminding me of me and Sam.

Fuck the adults. I don’t feel bad for any of them. We obviously all belong here. But kids don’t deserve this.

Once I finish the last can, I toss it at the plastic grocery bag over in the kitchenette. It ain’t but a few feet, but I miss. It lands noisily on the heap on the floor.

One more thing I got to do before I sleep. It's a stupid fucking habit. I know that. I had broken it once or twice over the last couple of years, but ever since I’ve been in this shit hole, I’ve had to do it. I purse my lips, roll them between my teeth to keep them shut. I close my eyes and try not to say it. A few deep breaths are supposed to help, but I'm on the verge of hyperventilating. My whole body buzzes with tension. Never said I wasn't a sick fuck.

Once I whisper the words, I'll feel fine again. Don't even have to say them out loud, just mouth it. Just make it known to the universe so I can have my few hours of fitful sleep. Fuck it, Winchester, you psycho. Just say it.

“Night, Sam.”

SAM

I ditch the car and start walking. Half the houses are boarded up, dilapidated. The other half have guys hanging off the front porches in a haze of smoke and loud music.

As I pass one of these places, I get a live one. He hops down and follows me. He’s quickly trailed by a cadre of his homies. “Hey. Hey, Snowflake.”

His buddies seem to find that hilarious.

The guy actually breaks into a jog to catch up to me. I hear his footsteps against the pavement. Then, he’s walking right alongside me. “You lost or something?”

He leaps out in front me. He’s a wiry, little guy in a puffy jacket and a baseball cap. For some reason, he reminds me of a black leprechaun. His hand is on my chest, daring me to keep walking. “Yo. You ain’t hear me talking to you?”

I consider decking him and taking off. I didn’t come this close to get shot. So, I stop. They all surround me like a pack of wolves.

“What you got in that bag?”

Of the guys I can see, most of them are grinning. Apparently, this is a better game than Loiter at the Crackhouse.

“I said, what’s in the bag, Snowflake?”  
Yeah. They like that one. I can see why.

“Something funny?” He yanks the duffel from my arm and tosses every single item of clothing, the books, my toothbrush, everything out onto the sidewalk along with the trash that was already there.

They rummage through it, like some sort of ghetto TSA. “Ain’t shit in here.”

I stoop to collect my stuff so I can be on my way. They all just stand there watching. I can’t imagine the level of boredom that would make this interesting.

“Did I say you could pick up your shit?”

At this point, fuck it. I stand toe to toe with the guy. His nose comes up to my sternum. If he’s going to shoot me, let him shoot me.

As if he’s heard me, he pulls a gun out and holds it sideways to my forehead. This is the first time I’ve had this experience. Hm.

In one quick move, I duck slightly and open my mouth so the barrel is knocking against my teeth. The guy gasps and almost stumbles backward.

“Hey, yo. This white boy crazy.”

“Must be.”

“Crazy as shit.”

They laugh uncomfortably, but gradually start to clear off.

 

DEAN

I’m curled up good and hazy, almost sleep, when I hear a knock. It couldn’t possibly be at my door, because I don’t know anybody. And Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t come around at 3 in the morning. These walls are so thin, I can hear Rufus fart. It must be that he’s got company.

I roll over. It comes again. Louder. Definitely my door. Which leaves the landlord. That can’t be good at this hour. I take my sweet time getting to it, especially when the knocking gets more urgent. What the hell can this guy want in the middle of the fucking night?

When I open the door, I nearly have a heart attack. I can literally feel the thing give one last beat, surge and sink. My little brother throws himself on my neck. Trying to keep my balance, I stumble back into the apartment. We land on the floor with Sam straddling my lap. He’s peppering sloppy kisses all over my face, laughing like a little kid. Which he is not anymore. Little, I mean. He must have shot up 8 inches in the last two years, put on a good 30 lbs.

This can’t be. Isn’t happening.  
Everywhere his lips touch, these tiny fires ignite and spread until my whole body is burning. My hands fly to his hips. I try to push him away from me. My dick is already straining against my jeans. Breath catches in my throat as I squeeze my eyes shut and choke on the words, “Sam. Sammy. Sam, get up.”

Finally, he lets me sit up. There’s still this goofy grin plastered on his face. God, Sam. And he’s still kneeling over my legs. I give him another gentle shove and scramble the hell away from him.

Once I’m back on my feet and a fairly safe distance, my breath and my traitorous cock start returning to normal. Still, I turn and face the wall like an idiot, because I don’t know what the fuck else to do. “You’re … not supposed to be here.”

When I turn around, he’s still on his knees, peering up at me. His eyes narrow. His face and his voice drop so low, he might be crying under those shaggy bangs. “Two years and that’s what you have to say to me? You been out over a month. You don’t try to get a message to me or anything?”

“Get up.” I want to offer him a hand, but I don’t think it's a good idea to touch him if it’s not absolutely necessary.

Slowly, shakily, he climbs to his feet.

“I’m not allowed to see you, Sam. You know that.”  My tongue is sticking to the roof of my god damn mouth.

His voice is about an octave deeper. He’s damn near as tall as I am. He used to have this goofy looking bowl cut. Now, his hair is everywhere. And he doesn’t look like a kid anymore. He looks … yeah. I’m not going to let myself think about how he looks.

All that time I spent hiking and holed up and surrounded by all kinds of juvenile delinquents. Cas. Never had a thing for any of them.

Sam? God damn.

I shake my head. Can’t be thinking like this. Obviously all that reflection and counseling and cold fucking remorse doesn’t amount to shit when I’m face to face with this kid. I take a step backwards for good measure.

“So, how was it?” For such a smart kid, that is actually a pretty dumb question, but one of us had to break the silence.

“Not actually all that bad, for what it was. Better than being on the inside.”

Sam nods as if he understands. He has no idea. I’m really thankful for that. With all the fucking up I’ve done, Sam was always a good kid. “They wouldn’t even let me write you or anything.”

That just kind of spilled out.

“Yeah, I know. Me neither. I thought I was going to go crazy. Maybe I did.”

He thinks I don’t notice him skulking toward me. I’ve never been more aware of anyone in my life. Every cell in my body knows that Sam is about a foot away from me.

“But you kept it together, Sam, like I knew you would.” Looking him over again, the only way to describe his clothes is preppy. Somebody is clearly spending money on him. “As a matter of fact, you’re looking downright tidy.”

Sam looks down at himself, like he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. I don't need to do that to know about the denim wearing thin at the knees of my jeans. Or the hole in the sole of my left shoe where the puddles leak in and make my socks wet.

My baby brother is in designer. Banana something. I don’t even know the brand names. Just recognize the quality is a cut or ten above anything we could ever afford before I went away this last time.

“Uh, yeah. You're not going to believe this. I got a sponsor.” He ducks his head and stuffs his hands in his pockets, like it’s something to be ashamed of.

Of course, I believe it. This is Sam we’re talking about, with his manners and his smarts and no miscreant brother to hold him back. I’m not surprised at all. But I also don’t trust glittery situations, on principle. “A sponsor, huh?”

“Yeah. This guy. Brent Holloway. Maybe you heard of him.” He shrugs like free money is no big deal.

The name says nothing to me.

“Yeah. 2nd string quarterback. Nothing special really. But he came up through the system, went to my school and wanted to ... give back. Make himself look good. He started this charity… Anyway, everything's paid for. Clothes, shoes. Free ride.”

This is the kind of attention Sam attracts when I’m not around. It’s obviously a very good thing that I went away. “So, what do you have to do for this sponsorship?”

“Maintain a C average. Throw the ball straight.”

“What are we talking, fucking football?” I didn’t mean to shout. “Sorry. That’s…

Sam’s mouth flaps before he half-whispers. “It just kind of happened.”

“So, you’re jock?”

“I'm not a jock.”

“Yeah, but you are. And you look like one. A preppy jock.” I’m not sure how I feel about it. Those guys are usually huge assholes.

But this is more of what happens when I’m not around. Sam becomes an entirely different person. Not some geeky kid with knobby knees in second hand clothes. He’s a well dressed, strapping, fucking football player. Hell. It suits him. I don't like it, but I can’t complain either. Someone is taking care of Sam. It ain't me, but still. It’s good.

The door is still open. A duffel is in the hall. Sam follows the direction of my gaze and hauls his stuff into the apartment. As the door closes, he looks around at my meager digs, “I was thinking we should probably run.”

“Run?”

His hair flops over his eyes when he nods. “Like leave the state.”

“As in I should break my probation?”

“It was an idea.” There’s that low voice again. He drops the bag by the window.

“It’s not a good one.”

“I got some money.” Now, the voice trails off entirely.

“Yeah. No, Sam.” On so many levels, no.

“Then, I’ll just crash on your couch, but they’re probably going to look for me here first. So, we need a plan for that.”

“Yeah, well, as you can plainly see.” I make a grand sweeping gesture of my estate.

No couch. My furniture consists of a steel chair, a milk crate and a pissed up Goodwill mattress.

Sam shrugs and marches over to look out of the window overlooking a brick wall, “It’s not that bad. We’ve stayed in worse.”

It’s true.

This still doesn’t seem real. “Is this a trick?”

His eyes narrow like he’s trying to figure out what language I’m speaking. “What do you mean?”

That’s why I know it’s a trick. “Who told you to come here?”

“Nobody has to tell me to come find my own brother. The only reason I didn’t try before is that you were in that camp place.”

I scrape my hand across my scalp. “How did you even find me?”

“A little thing called the internet.” Sam drops his lanky frame onto the mattress and leans back. “I got access to your whole file, you fucking delinquent.”

He flashes the dirtiest smirk I think I’ve ever seen in my life and pats the space beside him. My dick nods in response and I promptly turn my back. “How did you get here, Sam?”

“The Singer’s Ford is a piece of shit. I had to jack the neighbor’s car.” He folds his arms underneath his head.

This cocky, little idiot. “And you don’t think anybody is going to notice that?”

“I figured, we’d work it out. Me and you.”

“Smart.” I nod, irritated, not so much by Sam’s grand theft auto, but by the warmth creeping up my neck and down my chest at seeing him laid out like that.

His tongue darts out as he sits up, rubs circles into the spot by him again with something like fear in his eyes. “Come sit by me.”

Watching that hand go round and round like some kind of fucking hypnotic snake, I force my head to shake. I turn around and look at my ten year old cell phone. “I think I’ll pass. I’m going to figure out a way to get you back before the old people wake up. I actually thought one or both of them would be dead by now. They still treating you good?”

I’ve been so focused on my phone, trying to think of just what to do, that I didn’t notice Sam stepping up behind me until his whole body is flush up against mine. Long, firm arms slide around my chest. I nearly leap out of my skin and halfway across the room. “Jesus, Sam.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t think it through better. I just wanted to be with you. I assumed that would be mutual.” His voice cracks.

I can’t even bring myself to meet his eyes. “No. What you’re trying to do is get me thrown in jail for half a decade. I guess you didn’t really think about that either, did you?”

His mouth flaps open and shut a few times. I can actually see him collecting his thoughts and putting up a brave front. “It’s bullshit. It’s complete bullshit. I tried to tell them how it really was.”

I take a deep breath. I honestly did not expect to ever be having this conversation, but maybe it’s a good thing. A chance to finally get this shit off my chest. My mouth is dry, lips sticking together, but I just spit it out. “It was wrong, Sam. What I did to you… It was fucked up and I knew it was wrong when I was doing it. I just ... didn't stop myself. And I paid the consequences and that was fair. And it’s probably … it’s definitely best that I not be around you. Maybe ever.”

God, it hurt like a bitch saying that out loud, especially because I know how true it is. I can feel how thin the rope is that’s keeping me from marching across this room, getting all up in my brother’s space, stealing his warmth. His fire, that heat that just oozes off of him.

That was one thing that came out of all that fucking talking on the mountaintop. The why, the how I could do what I did to my little brother. It wasn’t a matter of subjugating someone who was weaker than me. I don’t get off on that kind of thing. And it’s not like I was seeking some kind of payback for all the unwanted cocks I’ve choked down in my life. Even if I had that kind of hang up, which I don’t, I wouldn’t take that out on Sammy. I love Sam. More than anything.

  
But I can’t pretend it was anything other than parasitic on my part. I was taking from him just as sure as if I had been some creepy predator on the street. Some kind of emotional vampire. Every time I kissed him, touched him, entered him, I was trying to get a little more of that heat. The same fire that he’s sending through me right now, just with that intense, hooded stare of his.

When I used to touch Sam, it was like the fucking ice in my soul melted, if only for that moment. Like there was one good thing in the universe and it belonged to me. “Sam, damn it, put your shoes back on. You can’t stay here.”

I was so caught up in keeping that sting behind my nose from turning into a full on bawling session that I hadn’t even seen him kick them off.

“What'd you do, find Jesus?”

In spite of myself, a small chuckle falls out of my throat at that. “I didn’t know he was missing?"

Sam smiles. So fucking beautiful. It hurts like fuck not to be closer to him. I take another step back until I’m pressed up against the wall.

“You just ... you sound like a pod person, Dean.” he lines his sneakers up neatly beneath his long fucking legs, but doesn’t move to put them on.

“I've had a lot of time to think about... things.”

“Yeah, well, I'm sorry to tell you, but your conclusions seem to be bullshit.” His lashes flutter so pretty, it doesn’t make any sense.

He heaves his lanky frame off the mattress, shrugs his jacket off and tosses it over the back of my chair. I keep my eyes on the ground and away from how buff his arms look in that shirt. What kind of 15 year old has fucking pecs? What have they been feeding this kid? “They're not just my conclusions, Sam. If everyone else in the world thinks…"

“They're wrong.” He crosses the room and leans back against the wall right next to me.

I push off and pretend to need something from the dinged up mini-fridge. There isn’t much in it. A couple of beers left. Some ketchup and half a pack of American cheese. “You want some water or something?”

“No.”

That’s lucky, because it’s not like I have any glasses to serve it in. I nod and pop myself a beer. Without thinking, I salute it towards him. “Look at you. You’re ... fuck. You're as tall as I am, dude.”

If I walk over and squeeze the swell of his bicep, I could make it look like a harmless, brotherly gesture, but it wouldn’t be that. “I bet the girls are just…”

A buzzer goes off in my head. Not a safe topic. I scratch the back of my neck. Nothing I want to say or do to my little brother is appropriate. That is precisely why there is a fucking restraining order that says I shouldn't be anywhere near him.

“Finish your thought so I can tell you mine.” Sam takes a step towards where I’m sitting on the fridge.

Even with the beer, it feels like I’m swallowing sand. I lay an ankle over one of my knees, trying to look as casual as I don’t feel. “I, uh, I bet they're lining up.”

“I don't give a fuck what they do. I belong to you, Dean.” It’s a matter of seconds before he’s standing in front of me. His crotch level with my face. His hand raising to touch my cheek.

I drop my beer on the floor and shove him away from me, “ All right, Sam, you know what? It's been... it's good to see you.”

“You want me to leave?”

I can only remember one other time my little brother has looked so hurt. That same fucking desperate, needy, hopeless look was exactly what got us into this mess. That and … well, everything about him. “Yes. I need you to leave.”

“What did they do to you?” He reaches for me.

I must look ridiculous, flinching and ducking like some kind of half drunken ninja to get away from his searching hands. “Sam, you have to go. You need money for gas or something?”

His eyes are slits now. The hurt is becoming anger. That’s good. He’s already stomping towards the door.

“Your… don’t forget your shoes.” I point behind me to the expensive looking skateboarder sneakers.

The stubborn, little asshole doesn’t even look at them. By the time he reaches for the doorknob, I’ve scooped up the Skechers, his heavy fucking duffel bag and his jacket. It smells like his sweat and some kind of cologne or deodorant. I don’t know how, but I resist the urge to bury my face in it and just hand him his stuff. “It was good to see you.”

I repeated it, because I didn’t know what else to say.

Sam squints down at the stuff in my hands - his stuff that I’m trying to give to him - like he’s confused about what it all is. “I'll let you get settled in. And I'll see you, maybe... tomorrow's too soon, right? Okay. In a couple of days?”

“Sam.”

“Yeah, no. I get it. Just…” His jaw clenches like he’s forcing words back down his throat. He shakes his head, kneels down and pulls on the shoes.

I take a step back, not at all comfortable with the thoughts swirling through my head as he leans so low. The puddle of beer. I’ll stare at that until he’s done. He stands quickly, pulls on his coat and tosses the bag over his shoulder.

Standing in the hall, he turns back around, "Can I hug you?"

My body erupts in a battle of fire and ice. Heat at just the prospect of being pressed up against my little brother again - his arms around my neck. My arms clutching that broader, firmer body. A chill of self-loathing follows close behind it as I shake my head, “Probably not … such a good idea.”

He nods. I close the door and go to clean up that puddle of beer. I search around the kitchen and realize I have nothing to clean it with. I possess one towel. I stare helplessly down at the mess. A bitter laugh barks out of my mouth.

If someone were to walk into the room at this moment, they would find me sobbing like a little bitch. Hot tears and snot pouring down my stupid face, as if a spilled beer was the worst tragedy in my life.


	4. To Own Him

SAM

It’s almost dawn when I pull Mrs. Morgan’s car into her driveway. I drag my sorry ass and the duffel up onto the back porch. The whole drive back, I only thought of one thing over and over on repeat.

  
I was a long, scrawny kid at 11. It was no wonder that he didn't see me. I looked like a frigging scarecrow. That didn't make it any less painful.

 

I had done a pretty good job keeping myself covered. I never showered or undressed around Dean, or anyone else for that matter. I never wore shorts or short-sleeved shirts, no matter how hot it was. When the kids in the home went swimming, I refused. I had such a consistent plan that I don’t even really know how I slipped up. I only remember how bad Dean flipped out.

He grabbed my left arm like he was trying to yank it out of the socket. His eyes scoured over the gashes and burns. His nostrils flared like some kind of wild animal. He shook me like a rag doll. “What the hell is this? Sam. What the fuck happened here?”

I looked up into his eyes. I’ve never seen anyone else with the same kind of moss green eyes. It was like I was mesmerized by the color. By his rage. He just kept shaking me. Like he was going to kill me for being hurt. “Who did this to you?”

My brother was 15 at the time and so big to me. So strong and wise and brave and everything. Just everything. I couldn’t have lied to him if I’d wanted to. “Me.”

“What are you talking about?” He was still holding my arm awkwardly over my head.

“I did it.”

His brow furrowed severely, “Are you lying to me?”

I shook my head. He held up my arm and studied the marks with a look on his face like they were hurting him. It was mostly scars scritch scratched in various shades of pink across my pale skin. There were a couple of burns, but cigarettes were hard to come by for a 6th grader.

“Why? Why would you do this?” His voice was so small. Quieter than I’d ever heard him. He looked down at me, jade eyes wet. I felt like shit, not for harming myself, but for upsetting my brother.

“Sammy. Why?”

The oldest cut was gray and jagged. Over the wrist, like some kind of an ugly bracelet. I could almost laugh at the fact that I expected it to kill me. Had hoped I would bleed out and die, but had been too stupid and scared to cut deep enough. It hardly bled at all. I traced a finger slowly over it. “Mara Downey.”

It hurt worse to say her name than the actual cutting did. I bit my lip at the stupid pain of it and traced the next one. “Linda Brannigan.” The next was “Jennifer Updike. Suzanne Whitaker. That girl with the red hair. You didn’t tell me what her name was. Kellyanne Booth.”

“Jesus.” Dean gasped.

I couldn’t bring myself to look up at his face. There were plenty more cuts and gashes and I remembered them all by name. And by every detail that I either saw first hand or heard from somebody else. The worst ones, the deepest ones, were from when Dean had told me himself. Had come bragging to me about what he had done with the latest girl. And then, I’d have to see her the next day at school or on some field trip with the kids from the home.

It was fucking torture. Way worse than a little slice in the arm or on the thigh. Everybody thought I followed Dean around, because I wanted to be him. It was partially true. I wanted people to think I was strong and tough and brave and funny, but more than that, I wanted him. My big brother was everything and I wanted him to want me like he wanted those girls.

“I, um…” Dean stood up and ran into the wall on his way out of the bathroom.

I remember now. I had forgotten to lock the bathroom door and he had snuck in to brush his teeth and seen me when I stepped out of the shower.

I felt so stupid. All I could do was get dressed in my fucking ninja turtle pajamas and slink back to our shared room. We were with a family at the time. The lady was okay. She yelled a lot and made us do a shit load of chores. Other than that, though, she worked a ton and mostly wasn’t around to bother us.

Dean was laying on his bed with his hands under his head, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t even turn to look at me when I stepped into the room. I had a very real feeling that my brother was never going to talk to me again.

I folded back my covers and crawled into bed. I drew them up over my head and imagined what it would be like to blow a hole through the roof of my mouth with our foster mom’s handgun.

The gun was in her bedside table. The bullets were in a shoebox in the bottom of her closet. I could do it first thing in the morning while Dean was taking his shower. I was wondering how much and for how long it would hurt when I felt the dip on my mattress.

I held my breath and waited for Dean to start hitting me. Honestly, I wouldn’t have minded that so much. The pain would have been better than if he just ignored me. Pretended his freak of a little brother didn’t exist. That I could not have survived. But maybe, if he beat me and got the anger out of his system, we could be cool afterwards.

“Sammy.” He was tugging at the blankets, trying to uncover my head.

I decided I would rather not see the furious look on his face while he was pummeling me. I grasped the fabric tight in my hands and refused to come out.

 

DEAN

Of course, I knew. I had seen it. Not the fucking scars all over him. But that look. I’d have to have been an idiot not to notice the way my brother looked at me.

It was actually really useful for me to be able to recognize that vaguely hungry, distant gaze that people get when they want to do something to you. Something you may or may not want them to do. It’s useful to be able to read that look and know when it might turn into something pleasant or something violent. Sometimes that look can turn into a $50 bill. Sometimes it can turn into a beat down or something worse.

It was a really important part of my childhood to know when someone wanted me. I just never expected to see that same smoldering curiosity in my little brother's eyes. Sam has never been a subtle or devious person. Sometimes, he would stare straight at me, letting his Cinnamon Toast Crunch get all soggy. Like he never needed to blink or anything. He might lick his lips and then, actually, wiggle around in his chair and adjust his pants.

At first, it was kind of disconcerting. Then, it got worse. It got so much worse, because I started wondering what his lips would taste like. What he would do if I were to lean across the breakfast table and find out. Then, it got to the point that I was thinking about him constantly and…

Yeah. Not acceptable, obviously. I would have rather fucked every girl in the world before I would mess around with my little brother like that.

The scars, though, that had really fucked with my head. The idea that every time Sam had seen me with some random girl that he would hurt himself. The batshit crazy little fucker.

The thing is, I did like girls. I do like girls. Always will. But Sam … that was a different breed of want altogether. Maybe because it was so wrong. I don’t know. It wasn’t something I ever planned to act on, though. In my mind, the way I wanted Sam and the mere fact that he wanted me was just another indication of how fucked up I was. How fucked up we both were.

But those scars, man.

Even then, kneeling on his bed, I had no other intention than trying to get him out from under the covers, so he could at least see that I wasn’t judging him or anything. That I wasn’t mad. That was it. “Sammy.”

He was a strong little cuss. I had to actually jerk the blanket out of his grip. His face was totally red. He was damn near biting a hole in his bottom lip, probably to keep himself from crying. Stubborn, batshit crazy little fucker. “Hey.”

There was this look on his face. That same look he had when he realized I wanted him to leave the apartment tonight. So fucking needy and desperate. “Sam, it’s…”

There wasn’t really anything I could say, though. So, I kissed him. Not like deep or tongue-y or anything. Just lowered my face over his until his breath was warm and damp on my lips. Then, I touched mine to his.

His eyes got so big I actually laughed. I didn’t think it was possible, but he blushed an even deeper red. Then, the shit punched me in the ribs. From that angle, he couldn’t do much damage, but I exaggerated the pain, because I knew it would make him feel better. Make him relax. “So, you’ve been keeping count for me?”

That time he shoved me off the bed. I landed on my ass on the floor.

Both of us were laughing when I crawled under the covers with him and pulled them up over both of our heads. Sam snuggled his cheek next to mine. “You’re not grossed out.”

I just shook my head.

He rolled my earlobe between his lips. My hand made its way to his slender hip without any direction from my brain. If my brain had been at the helm, I would have been back on my own bed. By that point, to be honest, my dick was in command.

“Promise me, you'll never touch another girl as long as you live.”

I might have been distracted, but that shit came through loud and clear. I just laid perfectly still trying to figure out how to answer him.

“Promise, Dean.” His breath was so warm on my ear.

“Listen. I love you, Sam.”

“No, you don’t.” He started to pull away.

I held him in place. He stretched his neck to get his face buried in my chest. “Listen to me, you little shit. I love you. All the way. If it'll make you happy, fine. Never again. But you have to know that you're free to do whatever you want. Or else I can’t ... I mean, I can't take that from you. You should experiment and you know, have as many partners as you can.”

“I only want you.”

The words sent a jolt up my spine. You hear that kind of thing and the cave man in you just goes ‘Hell yeah.’ But this was my kid brother, for Christ’s sakes. So, I said, “For now.”

“Forever.”

“All right. I’m not going to argue about it. Just know that when you change your mind, I'm fine with it.”

He gripped my face between both of his sweaty palms, glaring up at me. “I'm not. I'm really not okay with it.”

“Got the memo, Sam. You can let go.”

His death grip loosened, but his hands stayed put. “Say it again.”

I rolled my eyes, but I really didn’t mind saying it as often as he wanted to hear it. “I love you.”

“The other thing.”

I had to think about what other thing I had said.

“How much?” A little smirk spread across his face.

“All the way.”  
   
He kissed me and wrapped those incredible legs around me, “I like that.”

“I can see that. All the way and always.” I kissed him again. That time it was a little tongue-y.

His hips thrust up into mine. I felt like I should be saying something, -but I couldn’t get a word out. The kid was literally taking my breath away. He hummed and flicked his tongue against my neck. Heat coursed through me, just as sure as if he had grabbed a hold of my dick. “Sammy? What are you doing to me?”

“Nothing.” He did it again just before latching onto my throat like a little leech.

I know I must have said “no” “we shouldn’t” “hey, buddy, don’t.” at the same time as I had held him so close that I could feel his little hard on pressing into my leg.

I didn’t stand a chance. His arm wrapped tight around me, clutching the back of my neck, pinning me to him. It wasn’t even clumsy, like you would expect from a little virgin boy. It was calm and deliberate, like he was weighing every move in advance.

Somehow, I managed to put a hand on his chest and push myself up a few inches. “I need to go to my bed now.”

But, of course, this was Sam. The hell he was going to listen to me. He rolled his hips up into mine again.

“Sam.” I was supposed to be pushing him away, but I’m pretty sure I was clutching him tighter.

I rolled us over onto our sides, still face to face, but hoping that would win me a little space. Sam was trying to snake his way down my chest. I knew very well where his mind was and I had just enough presence of mind to pull him back up the bed so we stayed eye to eye.

“Let me.” He whimpered.

I practically shoved my hand down the elastic of his pajamas. He panted against my neck as I wrapped my hand around his wood and stroked as quickly as I could without hurting him. In my - admittedly fucked up - mind, the solution was to bring him off as quickly as possible. Feed the beast. Then, I would retreat to my own bed. The next day, we would both pretend this had never happened.

It was good plan.

He shuddered and quaked against me, fistful of my t-shirt, open mouth latched onto my collarbone. I kissed his forehead as his slick dribbled warm over my fingers. So fucking hot. “All right? You all right, Sammy?”

His heart was beating like a hummingbird's wings. I could feel it in my own chest. It took him a full five minutes to recover to the point that his breathing was normal enough for him to sigh, “I want you to fuck me, Dean.”

I press my palms into my crotch. Just enough to push it down into a slightly more comfortable position. I don’t care how it hurts. If I die of blue balls. I’m not going to jerk off to thoughts about Sam tonight. I’m just not.

Fuck. I am not going to do that. Fuck Fuck Fuck


	5. The Neighbors Might Think

SAM

I’m standing with the Singers in the swell of folks trying to get to the pastor to shake hands. Honestly, I just want to get out of the church, back to the house and go for a long run.

“Hey, Sam.”

I curl the corners of my lips upward and hope it looks more like pleasant than I feel. Jess Moore is nearly tall as me, slim. Her hair is curly and that same sandy color as Dean’s was before he left. She’s pretty, sweet, smart and the last person I want to see. In the “line up” of girls that Dean mentioned, she has been the most persistent. She’s relentless in a way that might actually be endearing if I was remotely interested in her.

“I don’t know if you knew that my birthday was on Tuesday.”

“Oh.” I nod, looking around for some excuse to slip away from her. Then, it occurs to me to add, “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” She beams like I had just given her a diamond ring. “And my parents are gone all weekend, so I’m going to be having some people over.”

“That’s cool.” I nod, wondering what Dean is doing right now.

I look at my watch. At noon on a Sunday, he should be at work at the grocery store. Around 7, he’ll go and wash dishes at the Chinese/Soul Food restaurant up the street from his place. The last time I was over there, he fed me some cold chicken and dumplings he had left over in a styrofoam container. It wasn’t half bad.

Jess is still blathering. When I tune back into what she’s saying, it’s, “I was hoping, maybe…”

I latch my gaze onto Mr. Singer, Pop, begging him with my eyes to call me over. He and Ma are watching us with the kind of amusement that tells me I’m on my own.

“And if you wanted … you could, you know…”

I can’t think of anything I want to do less than go to Jess’ party. I say, “Sure” and do that thing with my face that feels enough like a smile to make her beam as she bounces away.

DEAN

It had started to snow when I showed up to work. Just a little flurry at first. Now that I’m leaving, there are damn near 3 inches on the ground.

There aren’t a lot of cars on the road at this hour. There is one abandoned on the side of the road, though. Normally, I would have just kept on hoofing it, but for some reason, I turn my head in time to see three kids huddled in the back seat. One of them is crying pretty bad. The mom is trying to reach over the driver’s seat.

I lean down and tap on the window. She sits up straight and lowers it a sliver. What does she think I’m going to do? Reach into the car and pull off her face? Oh well, it’s dark and she’s clearly freaked out so I keep a good distance. “You all need some help?”

“We’re fine, thanks.” She rolls it back up.

I get about as far as the front bumper before I turn on my heels and knock again, “You sure?”

She opens the window a full inch this time.

“You know, if you’re waiting for the cops, it might be a while.” Even when we have gunshots, it takes an hour or so before the sirens come through.

“Do you know anything about cars?” she winds the glass down enough that I can see the concern on her pretty face.

“Little bit. Why don’t you pop the hood?”

I can't see too well, but enough to know that this engine is fried. Just completely done for. I don’t know how the thing had made it this far. I slam the hood shut and walk back around to her window, which she opens a bit more this time.

“Look. There’s nothing I can do without tools.”

“Okay. Thanks for trying.”

I walk a few feet away from the car, huddling into my jacket. The snow and the wind are picking up. It’s cold as fuck. For some reason, I can’t just leave them here. So, I just stand there waiting, like a jackass, with snow blowing up my nose and getting stuck in my eye lashes. Both of my godamn feet are wet in my sneakers and this jacket I got from the thrift store is not doing the trick.

It’s about 10 minutes before a car slides by, slow and cautious in the storm. I wave my arms like a bat out of hell, but they either don’t see me or don’t want to.

Finally, after nothing passes for another ten minutes, I trudge back to the driver’s window and tap on it. “Look, you all can’t stay here all night. It’s going to get colder before it gets warmer. And who knows when this is going to let up?”

“What do you suggest?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have a car or else I’d… I could call you a taxi.”

“Even if it came, who’s paying for that?” She actually sounds offended that I want to help.

I scratch my forehead. “How far do you live?”

She seems reluctant to answer the question, but finally spits out, “Munson.”

That’s a good 20 blocks away. Half an hour's walk in normal weather. “I guess you could hoof it. It’s going to be better than sitting here.”

“There’s no way for me to…”

I’m beginning to understand that it’s not rudeness I‘m hearing in her voice, but distress.  
“I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

After a few minutes of me standing there, she agrees to let me carry one of her twins. She carries the other one and the big boy, who couldn’t be much more than 5, walks. He holds on to the bottom of his mother’s coat. All the kids have on footie pajamas under their coats.

“So, I’m Dean.”

When none of them answer, I decide not to push the point. A few minutes later, when the oldest kid is starting to lag behind, I slow my pace a bit. “Hey, buddy. What’s your name?”

He looks up at his mother. She nods. He mutters. “Thelonius.”

“No kidding? That’s a mouth full.”

The mother points to the child in my arms. “That’s Miles. And this is Ella.”

“Where’s their dad?” The minute the words spill out I realize how dumb it was.

Her brows raise, incredulous, but not exactly angry.

“Not my business.”

“No, it’s not…”

“They’re beautiful kids.” I mean it, but I’m also trying to clean up after myself. It’s late. I’m tired and I never did have much of a filter.

The mom doesn’t say another word. Her face is clenched tight against the cold. She’s got Ella’s face buried in her chest.

“I’m going to tell you a story, Thelonius. Okay?”

The kid half grunts. He’s got to be freezing by now. I’m frigging freezing. Neither of us has gloves and this storm doesn’t give a fuck. “You go by Thelonius? ‘Cause that’s a really freaking long name for such a little kid. You don’t have a nickname or something?”

“Theo.”

So, I talk to Theo, half to keep him occupied and half to occupy myself. We trudge through the snow. It takes a little while, but I get him talking, singing, laughing until before you know it we’re standing in front of their building. By now, I’ve got Theo on my shoulders, slouched over my head, but humming along to Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. Miles is snoring in my arms.  
“This it?”

The mom nods. I follow her all the way to the kids’ bedroom. All three of them share. Once they’re all down, we retreat to the living room. It’s a hell of a lot nicer and bigger here than my place. They’ve even got furniture. It’s old, kind of ratty furniture, but still downright cozy.

And I didn’t notice this out in the snow on the side of the road, but this girl, this woman is really something. She’s got all this thick, black hair spilling wet over her shoulders. Man. She’s gorgeous. “You know, I didn’t get your name.”

She nods and sighs. “Cassie.”

“Cassie.” I must sound like an idiot repeating it like that. Don’t care. I can’t even remember the last time I talked up a pretty girl.

But that is not what this is. I shudder to think of the hour long hike back to my apartment. At least I can feel my toes again since we came inside. The numbness is being replaced by flat out pain. I half smile, half shrug and head for the door, because what else is there to do? “Well, take it easy, Cassie.”

“Wait. Dean. Let me get you some coffee or something, before you go.”

“Nah.” What’s the point in that?

“Please. I don’t think there’s any way I can thank you.” Her face is a blend of exhaustion and sorrow. And maybe a touch of wariness, like she’s still not sure what my intentions are and oh shit, she’s let this strange guy into her house.

I can see how generally uncomfortable my presence is making her. “You’re good. No thanks necessary.”

She catches me by the arm. “It’s my turn to insist.”

SAM

The music is obnoxious. Loud. With that constant bass that is going to give me a migraine. But it’s good in that it keeps me from having to have even more obnoxious conversations with anyone.

I watch Jessica dance. She knows I’m watching. She glances at me over her shoulder. Tosses her curls. I take a tug of my beer and just watch her through the smoky darkness.

I don’t really want to be here, but this is where I am. I won’t be able to drive out to Dean’s again until Saturday. Everything between now and then is killing time. So, I’ll kill it dead.

 

 

DEAN

I’m really trying here. Trying not to be creepy, watching Cassie too closely while she lets the water fill the kettle. She has a really slight figure. Trim hips, tight ass, long legs for her frame. I study the stretched out curves as she leans up on the counter to reach into the cabinet and pull us down a pair of mugs. Shit. How long has it been since I’ve seen something like that? I'm 19 years old. I feel like a dirty old man watching her like this.

“So, how far do you live?”

“Not sure. Haven’t been around here all that long.”

“Whereabouts?” She sets the mugs on the counter and leans backwards against it, arms folded over her chest.

“Uh… Gable.”

“Are you serious?” Her face falls in that way that does not bode well.

“Is that far?”

“You were walking from Border Place?”

“I work at Chungs. That restaurant, you know?”

She nods. “It’s a good 15 minutes drive from here to Gable, depending on what hundred block.”

That means an hour under normal conditions. “Well, it’s not going to let up any time soon. I had better make tracks.”

“You can crash here, if you want.” It looks like the words leaked out of her mouth before she had a chance to vet them.

“That’s not…”

“Look. You could have left us on the side of the road. We’d still be there now. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that you don’t plan to murder us all in our sleep.”

“Why would I wait until you were sleep? Sorry.”

Was that almost a smile? Apparently, she’s not too put off by my sense of humor. That’s something.

The kettle whistles. Cassie pours me a cup and hands it over. I feel like a little kid doing it, but I wrap both of my hands around it. I never would have believed any thing could feel so good.

She settles into a chair across from me at the kitchen table. This might be the homiest goddamn thing I’ve ever been part of.

“So, tell me a sad story, Dean.”  
“What makes you think I know any sad stories?”

“You know at least one. About a suburban boy who comes to live on Gable St.”

I nod. I know what she’s asking me. My kind ain’t exactly a common breed around here. “How about the story of a homeless fuck up who was glad to be able to find a place he can afford.”

I tell her a little bit. But I spare her the part where my mom gets murdered or my dad practically abandons us. I spare her the details about our time on the street and the decade getting kicked around by CPS. I spare myself the agony of even saying Sam’s name. Cassie nods, solemn, like she already knows the whole fucking story.

Then, I ask, “Where were you coming from? At this hour?”

She hesitates, like she’s deciding whether to answer me at all. “I work at the hospital.”

There’s a whole mess of details she’s leaving out, too. Which is only fair. We drink our tea in silence and I crash on her couch under a crocheted blanket. It smells like pets they don’t have. I sleep like a baby.

SAM

“We’re totally not getting out of here.” Jessica is practically bouncing on her toes as she stares out of the window at the snow piling up on and around the huge fir tree in her front yard.

Every one of the massive houses in this neighborhood is done up in Christmas lights. I’ve seen the Mexican landscapers stringing them up. My dad used to do odd jobs like that. Whatever random thing people needed to get done, for a few bucks. Sometimes, he would drag me and Dean along to toss out the trash or whatever.

Now that everyone is gone, and maybe the buzz has worn off, she’s looking at me under her long eyelashes. It’s a performance, though. There’s not a bashful bone in this girl’s lithe body.

I step up behind her. All girls love that. She tenses for a second and then melts against me. I wrap an arm around her waist and wish to god that Dean would let me do this.

“Your parents okay if you stay here?”

I nod and press my lips to her temple. She smells nice, but she’s not what I want.


	6. In Sin and Error Pining

DEAN

I try not to expect him. Every time Sam shows up, I tell him not to come back. I tell him, not because I don’t want him to, but because it’s the right thing to do.

Every few days, though, he shows up and hangs around. And it’s mostly good for a while until I get the feeling I’m going to do something stupid like touch him or kiss him. Then, I ask him to leave and he goes. It’s not ideal, but I’m not sure what would be.

 

SAM

Dean is standing in the kitchen when I come into the apartment. It smells amazing. Like he’s working some kind of magic over that double hot plate. Without turning around, he calls out, “Who’s car did you jack this time, criminal?”

He doesn’t even complain that I stole his key to make a copy. He must know, since I let myself in this time without knocking.

“The McCann's.” I peel my jacket off and hang it over the chair I brought him last week. “Remember them?”

“They had the hot daughter?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Marie. She’s all right.”

He’s set up the lamp I gave him over by his mattress. He has also replaced the crate with a rickety table. He’s even got a couple of chipped plates. My brother is practically living in the lap of luxury compared to when I found him.

“I hope you’re covering your tracks, dude.” Dean scrapes a heap of enchanted pasta onto the plate in front of me and divvies himself up a smaller helping.

“Don’t worry. I’m good.”

Dean just nods. He puts the pan on the hotplate and produces a pair of packaged plastic forks. While we eat, he insists I tell him about school: what classes I’m taking, who I hang out with. When I ask him about his jobs, he just answers that his life is boring as shit.

“So, you haven’t met anybody?” I try to sound indifferent about it.

“I meet a lot of people every day. Rice is on aisle 4. Riveting shit.”

When the food is done, I take both plates to the sink. I wait until the rusty brown water turns mostly clear. Then, I wash the dishes the best I can with my hands. By the time I’m done with that, Dean is sitting on the floor, against the wall with a beer in his hand. His head is tilted back, eyes closed.

I guess I’ve been standing here a little too long, just staring at him. Not wanting to. Not meaning to. Just noticing the faint circles around his eyes. The freckles over the gentle slope of his nose. His lips. So familiar and forbidden to me now. I want to kiss him so bad I feel sick with it. I just stand here, swallowing spit and wiping my wet hands on my jeans.

“Sit down, Sam.”

DEAN

He settles a little closer than I would have liked, but I don’t want to make some big thing out of it. It’s fucking good to have my brother back. Good to have him around. Even despite these edgy moments when one or the both of us don’t seem to know where to lay our hands or rest our eyes to keep it from getting weird and all kinds of inappropriate.

I slide the beer I’d cracked for him over by his foot.

He whispers, “Thanks” and turns it up to take a swig.

I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he drinks. Then, I remember how not normal that is and turn my attention to the beer in my own hand.

After draining about half of the can, Sam turns up his nose and looks at the label. “What is this shit?”

I have to laugh at that. It is bad. I know how bad it is. It was what I could afford. “I didn’t know you were a fucking connoisseur.”

“I think I would rather drink piss.” He slides the can back to me. The little shit.

“I’ll see if I can get you some bottled piss for next time, then.”

Sam’s brow tweaks up a little. “Does that mean I’m official invited?”

“It means I know how hard your head is. There’s no point trying to tell you not to anymore.”

“Glad you know that.” He smiles triumphantly.

I finish my can of go-cart fuel and knock back his. Then, I close my eyes again. “So, what’s her name?”

“Who?” Sam asks as if he doesn’t know exactly who I’m talking about.

I answer without opening my eyes. I’m starting to feel pretty mellow and I’m always tired as hell. “The girl with the party.”

“Oh.” He hesitates, as if he’s going to act like he doesn’t know the girl’s name. “Jessica.”

“She hot?”

“I don’t know.” Sam is obviously uncomfortable with this line of questioning.

One thing I know: it is normal for an older brother to ask a younger one about the chicks in his life. I’m sticking on this like white on rice. “Why? She invisible?”

“She’s all right.”

I take that to mean the girl is at least fairly good-looking. Possibly extremely hot and that Sam doesn’t want to talk about her. “What she look like?”

“I don’t know, Dean. She’s a girl.”

“Fat skinny tall short. Give me something to work with here.”

He’s so quiet that I open my eyes to make sure he hasn’t fallen asleep. He’s just sitting there staring at me again.

“So, you fuck her?”

SAM

“Yeah.”

Dean’s eyes go wide for a second. Then, he smiles and punches my shoulder like a big brother in a Hallmark commercial. It makes me sick. “Good for you, champ.”

Yeah, I fucked her, but it was like everyone else I’ve ever fucked. Fine in the moment, but not satisfying. Nothing like when I was with Dean. Not even close. I want to tell him that so bad, but he won’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to talk about any of that. He kicks me out if I try.

I can’t believe how not remotely jealous he is. He just leans his head back against the wall and shuts his eyes again. Shuts me out.

It was a long shot, I guess, mentioning Jess and the party. A stupid idea to think that he would give a shit about me sleeping with other people. I’m rapidly running out of alternatives here.

I am not too proud to admit to myself how desperate things have gotten when I’m taking advice from a column I read in one of the magazines in Jess’ bathroom. One of them had an article called “How to Get a Guy to Like You.”

I had read and re-read that damn thing like my life depended on it. The biggest takeaway is that, apparently, guys do not like it when you are blatantly into them. Now, I’m a guy and I should know that’s not always true. But I don’t know what I’m doing with Dean anymore. It’s not like I can ask anybody real for advice.

What I want to do, more than anything on earth, is crawl into his lap and make him kiss me. Make him hold on to me for dear life, like he used to do when I was little. Make him want me. Make him fuck me. Make it like it was.

Maybe he just doesn’t find me attractive like this. I’m not a little kid anymore. Maybe he just liked it when I was small and kind of girlish. There definitely isn’t much of that left. My voice is damn near deeper than his. We’re shoulder to shoulder. Even Dean says I’ll probably be taller than him when I get finished growing. Maybe he just really doesn’t like that.

If that’s what it is, there’s nothing I can do about it.

Well, it’s driving me fucking crazy. The only thing I can do is just ask and then he’ll answer and then, I’ll know.

I just can’t get the words to come out of my mouth.

DEAN

“Spit it out, Sam. You’re going to give yourself an aneurism.” I groan like an old man as I stand up to take the cans to the grocery bag in the kitchen.

This is never going to be a four star hotel, but it doesn’t have to be a garbage heap, either.  
I’ve actually started keeping the place rather tidy, since Sam’s been coming around.

“Do you think I’m…” His mouth clamps shut around the words.

I don’t know exactly what he wants to ask, but I have an idea. “I think any girl that doesn’t want you is insane.”

“And you?”

“I’m definitely insane.” I’m trying so very hard to keep the mood light. Grasping, in my mind, for a way to change the subject. It’s getting old kicking Sam out every time I feel my shaky self-control on the verge of cracking.

I like having Sam around. I love it. Even if I know what the consequences would be if we got caught. Just like this. Even if I don’t do anything wrong, I’m still not allowed to be around him.

But, to my credit, I left him alone. It’s not like I stalked him, like I had thought about doing so many fucking times. He came to me. What was I supposed to, refuse to see him? If I could just get it through his thick skull that things will never be that way between us again. Then, everything would be fine. Everything would be perfect.

“Do you want me?”

SAM

It was a yes or no question. Maybe not simple. But direct. And I’m standing in his face. Five inches away. I know that he could send me off again. I just need him to answer me.

His face twitches like he’s thinking of hitting me. “Back up, Sam.”

“Dean.” I lean in an inch or two.

“BACK THE FUCK UP!”

I don’t remember him ever yelling at me that way. My heart rate picks up, but I don’t back up or move any closer. I’m just paralyzed.

Dean pushes me out of his way and storms across the room, wiping his palm over his mouth. “God damnit. What is wrong with you? Why can’t you just … exercise some fucking self-control, Sam. You know what? Go. Just…”

He picks up my boots. This time rather than hand them to me, like he normally would, he hurls them at the door. “Get the fuck out, Sam. And don’t come back, okay? Does that answer your fucking question? I want you to leave me the fuck alone. That’s what I want.”  
He punches once and his fist goes right through the wall. Then, he picks up one of the steel chairs and tosses it across the room. He’s rampaging, not attacking me, but I duck anyway.

There really isn’t much in this apartment to destroy. It takes hurricane Dean about 2 minutes to do it. When he finally flips the mattress over, he stands, panting with his back to the corner, like some kind of animal.

I only need a few moments to recover. Then, I do the stupidest thing that I could possibly have done.

DEAN

I don’t have anymore fight in me. Physically, mentally. I have given it all I had. I tried so fucking hard not to do this, not to become this again. When Sam’s hands land on my chest, I have just enough energy left to lock my fists around his wrists.

He leans close. I swear, I try to sink backwards, vanish through the wall. I try. There’s nowhere to go. I close my eyes.

SAM

He looks so scared, so vulnerable. Like he’s not even Dean anymore.

There’s all this sorrow spreading over his face. I press my cheek to his, because I can’t not. I breathe in his scent. Grease, dollar store soap and Dean. I bury my face in his shoulder and hear myself whisper, “Do you want me to leave?”

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t move. Just stands there, pressed against the wall, like I’m making him do this. Like he couldn’t be any more clear that he does not want me and I can’t take no for an answer.

I want him. God knows how bad. But I don’t want it to be like that.

“Dean?” It’s the hardest thing I ever did in my life. Stupid tears pool in my eyes, but I pull my head up and start to step back away from him.

DEAN

All that warmth. That heat. It’s going to be gone and I can’t. Just let him go.

My hands stay clamped onto his waist and then, close so tightly around his chest that he has to shuffle a little to get his breath.

Kissing Sam is a fucking revelation. I realize now that I have not felt alive or happy or good since the last time his lips were on mine. I realize that I am willing to rot in jail or in hell for this. His hands rough all over me. Scrunching up the hem of my shirt. Searching out my skin. Scratching his blunt fingertips down my ribs and my back. Sending smoke signals to the fireworks exploding in the center of my chest and straight to my eager fucking dick. It’s like my body is singing, ‘Welcome back, Sam. Welcome back.’  
God help me, he was always so good.

When he pulls back, my hips rise up. My body chases sluggishly after that heat. My mind is gone. I’m not making any decisions here. Just kind of watching myself fall down an old familiar hole.

Sam just smiles at me and swipes a thumb over my lips. Then, he turns in my arms, peels my hands from around him and leads me to the mattress. It's now laying in the center of the room. Thanks to my freak out.

I watch him squeeze out of his sweater and t-shirts all at once. The kid is built. He’s fucking built. Still slender, but god damn. I never thought of guys as gorgeous before, but this..

He peels mine over my head. He clearly isn’t as out of practice as I am. It’s been a little over two years since the last time I had anyone’s hands on me. Sam’s hands on me. All over my chest. God.

His mouth worships my neck and shoulders. Lips trouble my ears until the goosebumps pop out all over my skin. I don’t know what it is about the ears. I just love it. And he knows that about me. I grin and lean into every kiss, stroking my hand over all that silky hair. I might tell him to get a haircut, but I would die inside if he ever did.

I run my hands down his toned back and over something hard tucked into the back of his jeans. A fucking gun. “What the fuck, Sam?”

Obviously, it isn’t a surprise to him. “What? You don’t exactly live in the safest neighborhood. Don’t you have one?”

“No.” What the hell do I want with a fucking gun?

“Then, I’ll get you one.”

“No, thanks. And I want you to get rid of this.”

“Fine.” He’s just humoring me. He takes the thing and places it carefully on the floor. Then, he goes straight for my fly.

“I’m serious, Sam. Ditch it.”

“Guns don’t kill people, Dean.” If he thinks those dimples are going to change my mind, he has another thought coming.

“People kill people … with guns.”

“Fine. I’ll get rid of it. Okay?” He kisses me and shucks his own pants so fast I don’t even see it happen. Then, he comes for mine.

Some grain of clarity makes me stay his hand. His eyes rise to mine and all he has to say is my name to sweep that pesky hesitation away.

Once we are both undressed, he sits down on the mattress. “Oh, shit.”

SAM

I almost forgot the lube. God, did we discover you need that the hard way. I have to laugh at the pitiful memory. When Dean sees what I’ve dug out of my backpack, he smiles. Obviously, we’re thinking of the same thing.

The container makes that sweet squelching sound as I squeeze some onto my fingers and reach back to prepare myself for my brother. I can’t wait to have him inside of me again. His body is so much more beautiful than I remembered. I can’t help smooth my hand down his chest and tweak his nipple just to feel it tighten.

His eyes trail to my other arm and the smile falls from his perfect face.

DEAN

It dawns on me exactly what he’s doing back there. What that means he expects me to do. As if I didn’t know before. As if it’s some kind of surprise that I’m in this situation. I let it come to this. Am I really this sick?

He lays on the mattress, legs spread, fingers scissoring his hole open.

“Sam, I can’t.” My voice breaks like a fucking twelve year old.

SAM

When Dean starts to back away, I start to die. I feel it. I’m going to die if he doesn’t do this. If he walks away from me now.

I grab at his arm, but he slips free and just leaves me laying there. My asshole is slick and open for him. My knees are spread, arms reaching out. I feel so fucking pathetic. It’s not such a far fall to begging. “Please. Please. Oh my god. Please. Don’t just … Dean.”

He just shakes his head with this wide-eyed, horrified look on his face, like he has never seen anything so revolting in his life.

“I need you. I need…”

 

DEAN

I’m not entirely sure where the idea came from. It’s not so much that I wanted it. It’s not something I had ever thought about before. I want Sam. More than anything, I want to wipe that dejected look off his face.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I reach over him and grab the lube from beside the mattress. I slather a glob of it over his cock, align myself the best I can and sink down in one fell swoop.

I never would have believed that anything could hurt so much if I wasn’t sitting here myself. Being impaled to death. In the asshole. Jesus. Mary. Fucking Christ.

Sam is gasping like mad under me. Like he is in pain, too. Well, this was well thought out, Winchester, you moron. His hands grasp me by the hips. He half sits up. That’s not better. “Oh fuck.”

Then, he collapses back to the mattress with his eyes squeezed shut. I grab two fistfuls of his chest and try to breathe. It’s not really working out though.

“Jesus. Dean. Don’t move until I tell you to, okay?” His palms slide down my thighs and I grab hold of his wrists.

Fuck that. I want this to be over. I rise up on my haunches and drop back down, fast and hard. It hurts like a sonuvabitch. And I had been doing this to Sam for nearly a year before they caught us. He never once complained. Never gave any indication of how fucking awful it was. On more than one occasion, he fucking begged me for it. Masochistic little fucker.

Sam rubs my back, “You have to relax, Dean. You can’t … Fuck. Just slow down and take it easy. You’re going to kill us both.”

I try doing what he says. The relaxing part is pretty much impossible when you have something stuck up your ass. But I lean forward a little and let him grind his dick slowly in and out of me. He’s got his hands on either of my ass cheeks, slightly holding them apart. Still not totally pleasant, but not nearly as bad either.

Sam moans and tells me to lay down.

“What?”

“Just relax. Lay down on me. All of your weight.”

“I don’t want to crush you.”

“Shut up.” He presses his hands to my back and I fall forward.

His hips start to rise and fall, slowly, rhythmically. And I’ll be fucked. This is definitely not the kid’s first rodeo. I’ll be damned if it doesn’t start to feel almost good. Almost. Okay, it feels fucking incredible, but somehow, it’s still embarrassing, getting stuffed by your little brother.

“That better?”

I just groan against his face.

He is pawing and kneading my ass cheeks like a fucking pro. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes.” I grind out breathlessly. Does he want me to say it feels amazing? It does, but I’m not going to say that.

“Good.” He rubs his hands up and down my back, occasionally stopping to squeeze my ass again.

I sit up a little on my elbows so I can look down at Sam. He stops moving altogether to gaze up at me. I could swear there’s something in it that was never there before. He reaches up and swipes the sweat from my forehead. “Do you like it?”

I just nod down at him. I want to tell him that I love him. I want to tell him that I would do anything for him. I want to apologize for being a fuck up. And thank him for being here with me. I want to beg him to fuck me as hard as he can. To hurt me. To make it hurt again. Not to go gentle and sweet, but to fuck me into fucking oblivion for everything I’ve ever done to him.

SAM

I can’t believe Dean let me inside of him. He’s so good and so tight and still everything. It doesn’t matter to me who does the fucking and who gets fucked, as long as we can be this close. I want to make it so good for him, that he can never tell me no again. Ever.

Before either of us finishes, Dean rolls off of me and covers his eyes with his arm.

“Look at me. Please.” I try to make him take it down, but he just goes all rigid, like he would rather I not touch him at all. “It’s not wrong, you know.”

He nods, but I think it’s just to get me to shut up.

“It’s not, Dean. They’re wrong. They don’t fucking know us. How can they say what we should be to each other? Don’t you still love me? Even a little bit?” My stupid heart is breaking. I can feel all the jagged pieces stabbing me from the inside.

He clears his throat, face still hidden behind his arm. “What time did you say you were heading back?”

I don’t want to cry. I’m not going to. I got exactly what I wanted. More than I had even dared to want and it’s worse than if I hadn’t. “Will you fucking look at me?”

Instead, he flops on his stomach, buries his face in his pillow. Then, he drags it over his head and pins himself under it, like he’s trying to suffocate himself.

I rest my head on his back. Kiss his sweetly sweaty skin. “I love you and it’s not wrong for me to want to be with you. I don’t care what anyone else says.”

He doesn’t kick me out or make me go home. He doesn’t roll over and talk to me anymore either. He just falls asleep. I spend most of the rest of the night stroking and kissing his shoulders, caressing his hair, running my fingers down his spine. I leave before dawn so I can get the car back before Mr. McCann wakes up and finds it missing.


	7. What I Know

DEAN

“Dean!”

I hear the kid’s voice a few seconds before he slams against my leg and latches on like a koala bear. My hand floats in the air, unsure where to go until it lands on Theo’s fluffy head. Cassie comes up the aisle laughing. God, she looks amazing. Fresh and happy. Not all tired and sad like that night.

“Hey. You stalking me?”

She smirks, “You wish.”

I kind of do wish. Theo is still clinging to me like a burr. I chuckle and coax the little bugger to the floor. He is still leaning with this forehead against the side of my thigh. It’s sweet. I pat his back. Good kid.

“He said he saw you and I told him he was imagining things. Apparently, I was wrong. What are you doing here?” She smiles down at her son and tries to pry him off my leg.

Kid’s not having it. Looks like one trudge through the snow wins you a fan for life. “Work here.”

“I thought you worked at Chung’s.”

I nod. “Also. And Walgreens on the weekends starting next week.”

“Industrious.” She actually looks impressed at my ability to land minimum wage jobs.

“Something like that. Where are the babies?”

“With my mom.”

It doesn’t take long for the moment to get awkward. It’s not like we’re old friends or something. It probably looks that way, but the fact is, I’ve only met these guys once before under some pretty odd circumstances. I lean over to look into her cart. “So, what you got?”

Mostly cans. Dented ones.

“Only the best.” Cassie only sounds vaguely bitter.

“Ah, the Chef. You like ravioli, Theo?”

“Not really.”

We both laugh at that. I once loved and then hated this shit. If I ever see another ravioli as long as I live I think I will stab Chef Boyardee right through his goofy hat. Wipe that smug grin off his fucking face.  
“I really want some Cap'n Crunch.” Theo announces.

Cassie leans down to whisper firmly. “I told you. Not today. Maybe next week.”

“You like Cap'n Crunch? You know that stuff is hell on the roof of your mouth.” I cursed. My bad. I try to apologize to Cassie with my face.

She gives a little smile as pardon, amused and vaguely grateful that I’m trying to talk the kid out of the treacherous breakfast. It’s for his own good.

“Then, Cocoa Krispies.” To his credit, Theo is not whining. He’s negotiating.

“Those are actually pretty good.” I nod and start towards the cereal aisle.

Theo jogs up beside me and tucks his warm, little paw into my hand. This kid. Cassie follows us with her squeaky cart. They’re all squeaky. Or have a wonky wheel. Every last one of them.

I pull the Cocoa Krispies down off the shelf and present them like a trophy to a grinning little imp. She takes the box from my hand before it can reach his. She has to stand on her tiptoes to put it back. I take it from her hand, “On the house.”

“Dean.” That tight lipped scowl is back and I realize, too late, I have overstepped again.

“Please.” Theo wails. “Please. Mommy, please.”

“Please, Mommy, please.” I beg right along with him until she shakes her head, more amused than angry.

I follow them up to the counter where Missy is ringing.

“These guys get the family discount.” It’s not much. Twenty percent, but it’ll more than pay for the cereal.

“She family to you?” Missy looks Cassie over with a sneer so cold, I actually shudder.

When she wants to be, Missy can be the warmest person you ever want to meet, but when she gets like this, watch out.

“This is my sister. … Half sister. Like from the waist up. What? It’s not coming out of your paycheck. Just do it.”

“She may be cute, but she ain’t the one, Dean.” She looks Cassie over, not even bothering to whisper this nonsense. “And I know you know what I’m talking about, ‘cause I can feel it coming off of you in waves.”

I spread my arms, incredulous. I can’t believe she’s talking this voodoo shit here and now. This woman doesn’t know me. Not like that. “Missy. What is this? Seriously.”

She sucks her teeth, shakes her head and mumbles something about the boss killing me, as she rings up Cassie’s food.

I walk her and Theo out front. She smirks. “Well, that was interesting.”

“No comment.”

 

SAM

Whoever it is keeps knocking. I know what time it is. I know what day it is. I don’t even have the energy to roll over. I’m sure as hell not getting up and going anywhere.

The door creaks open. Her clogs take a few cautious steps across the floor. “Sam, you feeling all right?”

I flinch when her cold hand brushes over my forehead. I turn my face away from her touch.

“It’s time for church.”

I groan.

“Come on. You got time to shower if you’re quick.”

“Not going.” I mumble into the pillow.

“Now, Sam…” She sounds like she wants to scold or give me some kind of ultimatum.

The anger surges through me, bright white hot. I can feel it as sure as if I had been electrocuted. I lift my head to be sure the old bitch can hear me. “I don’t fucking feel like it.”

 

DEAN

The elevator’s out. Of course, it is. Doesn’t matter, though. I skip up the 11 flights of step like they were nothing at all. I’ve been thinking about Cassie all day. That smile. Her hair. The way she smells, a blend of soap and disinfectant. Not exactly a sexy scent, but she is. Incredibly sexy. Her kids are great. They all give me something to think about other than Sam. And I am in.

I am not going to think about Sam. I refuse.

What would he think of Cassie?

No. Stop it, now.

She opens the door with a huge smile and accepts the best wine I could afford, which means it’s crap.

“Dean!” The kid shouts and hops off of a guy’s lap to run over to the door. He gives me one of his signature bear hugs.

A person can seriously get used to being greeted like this.

“Daddy, this is Dean.”

I’m pretty sure he said Daddy, but that could mean a lot of things, right? Theo drags me, by the hand, over to the guy whose lap he had been in. There’s a cigarette hanging out of this guy’s mouth or is that a joint? He’s got a beer in one hand. He doesn’t really look like he’s going to offer me the other one to shake. He just kind of looks me over like he’s the godfather or something and I’ve made off with some of his cash.

Cassie steps up beside me. “Gordon. This is Dean. The guy I was telling you about.”

Gordon nods. I’m suddenly feeling a lot less awesome about being invited to dinner. A lot less awesome about my thrift store shirt and tie. A lot less awesome about Theo’s little fist still wrapped around four of my fingers.

“Why don’t you help me set the table?” Cassie’s talking to me.

Gordon hasn’t said a word.

I don’t live here. This isn’t my house. Why should I help her set the table? She hooks a warm hand around my arm and pulls me toward the kitchen.

“You stay here, little man.” Gordon growls and pries a whining Theo away from me.

She hands me a stack of plates. I’m so braindead, I just take them. And stand there like a fucking idiot.

Cassie stands in front of me, chewing the hell out of her bottom lip. “I should have told you. I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t know he would be here. His schedule’s a little… he’s kind of unpredictable.”

“Theo’s dad.” Somehow I manage to squeak out the words.

Why should she have told me? I mean, it was obvious. The kid had to have a father.

“My husband.”

All I can do is nod. I just keep nodding, until my thoughts come back online. “So, is he cool? Gordon. Seems like a nice guy.”

He seems like an asshole, but I can’t exactly stand in the guy’s house with him in the other room and say that.

“He ... tours a lot.”  
“Musician.”

She nods and adds, as she takes the plates from my hands. “Drinks a lot. Fucks around a lot.” 

“And you're happy with that?”

Cassie stops with a fistful of silverware and looks right in my eyes. “Is anybody really happy? Are you?”

“No.” That was an easy question. Give me a harder one.

She points to the third drawer on the left. “Get some napkins.”

And I obey. Because, what the hell else am I going to do?

SAM

It’s his job. He’s supposed to tackle me. I know that. Everyone knows it. That’s how the game works.

But when we’re getting up, I get that flare again. Right in the center of my chest. And I grab hold of his face mask and toss the mother fucker to the ground. People are shouting all around me. I know that. I hear them. It doesn’t sound like anything real though. More like ocean waves than voices.

I catch him in a headlock so I can unsnap and wrench his helmet from his head. Then, I straddle his chest and slam the metal down against his face with both hands.

It’s not like I’m delirious or anything. I’m aware that I’m doing it. Or rather half of me is standing about 3 feet away, watching the other half of myself doing it. Admiring the sickening crunch of his nose. Impressed by the fascinating splash and flow of all that blood.

I hear myself scream like a maniac when they drag me from him and off the field.

In fact, I’m still screaming like a maniac now. It’s kind of funny, actually. Like that part of me over there has absolutely no self control whatsoever. That’s the problem, isn’t it? Isn’t that what Dean said. No self control. “Exercise some fucking self-control, Sam.”

I can hear his voice just as clear as if he were standing right next to me, shaking his head and saying. “No fucking self-control.”

 

DEAN

I didn’t even recognize him without the haze of smoke around his head and that evil scowl. Peering over the label of a Colt 45, he kind of looks like a different person. Out in public, at my job, in my aisle, Gordon almost looks like a regular person. Cassie’s husband, Gordon, puts his bottle onto the conveyor belt and watches me ring it up. Almost like a regular person.

Then, he leans close, like no regular person would do. “So, you like little kids, huh?”

And there’s no mistaking it. It’s not a regular question. It’s not a casual inquiry. It’s an accusation and a threat. A revelation, an allegation and a warning.

“I don’t think Cassandra has any idea just how much you like little kids. But it’s amazing the things you can find out about a person.”


	8. Gone, As You Can See

SAM

It’s been nearly a week. I take the steps two at a time. I fumble with the keys. Unlock the door. The knob turns easily. The door starts to open and then, stops. About an inch of chain is keeping me from getting in. Keeping me from my brother. 

An inch of chain. An inch of chain. An inch of chain. An inch of chain. An inch of chain. 

DEAN

Sam is out there. Jerking on the door. Yelling like some kind of lunatic. Not words, either. Just shouting like he’s lost his fucking mind.

I hold my breath and wait for him to give it up and go. Go home to his cushy life and his sponsorship and his line of girls and not come back. 

Now, he’s still yelling and banging on the door. Kicking it, I guess. Kicking the walls. Jesus, what is wrong with this kid? This is all my fucking fault. If I had just left him alone in the first place. I have another swig and stare out of my window at that brick wall like it was the key to fucking salvation. 

SAM

I will break the fucking thing down.

I will break this fucking guy’s face.

I will tear down this entire fucking building. 

I will break any one and any thing that tries to keep me from my brother. 

DEAN

Sam is still out there. Growling like some kind of wild animal. 

My neighbor is also out there. Rufus. I can hear his voice. Hear him trying to reason with Sam. Sam, who is now howling at the top of his lungs. Holy shit. It sounds like he is jumping, hurling his entire body against the door. 

I can’t hear everything Rufus says over the racket Sam is making. I do, however, hear the words, “Junky.” “Strung out.” Then, the word, “Police.” 

Fuck. 

SAM

The door opens. And there he is. So beautiful. My brother is so beautiful. I love him so much. I fucking love him so much. 

DEAN

“Rufus, man. It’s all right. I got him. He’s with me. I got him. No more trouble, man. I swear. You don’t need to call anybody.”

My neighbor mutters under his breath, but retreats to his apartment after sparing Sam one more frown for good measure. 

I close the door and pray to God this guy doesn’t decide to call the cops anyway. My brother is a hulking, sweaty, mouth breathing mess. His hair is all over the place. Eyes wild and glistening. There is fucking drool hanging out of the corner of his half open mouth. He actually does look like a strung out junky. “Jesus, Sam.”

“You can’t not see me.” He just barely breathes the words. His nostrils flare.

“What is wrong with you, Sam? I told you…”

“You can’t … You can’t do that.” His hand wraps tight around my neck. He just barrels forward, shoving me back against the opposite wall. 

Shit. All right. The kid is strong. 

Growling, he punches the wall beside my face. This particular wall is fucking brick, but that doesn’t seem to be a problem for Sam right now. His other hand bunches in my shirt. Tears. There are tears streaming down his face. He’s shaking like a full on addict. I start to ask him if he’s on something and he crushes his mouth against mine. Not sweet, tender, innocent Sam. Fucking brutal, violent. Teeth. A lot of teeth. He’s punishing me. 

And I take it. I deserve it.  
I let him spin me around. One of his huge hands mashes my face against the cold brick. With the other one, he jostles my sweatpants and shorts down around my knees. 

I take it. I deserve it. 

He’s breathing ragged in my ear, like some kind of rabid dog. He fucking licks me. Not sensual and provocative Sam. Sloppy and possessive. Like he’s fucking lost his mind. 

He grabs my dick. And it sure as hell ain’t gentle. A rough squeeze, then, he lets me go. Maybe he just wants to know if I’m hard. Not a problem there. Dean Winchester. Ever the fucking deviant. My dick is pointing the way to a heaven I will never get into.

He is pinning me in place with his hand ground into my cheek. Fingers harsh over my eyes and my nose. His pinky is between my lips. His belt clanks open. His breath hitches as he presses his chest into my back. He uses one hand to hold my cheeks apart. Then, he positions himself and fucking shoves into me. No lube. No preparation. No nothing. 

Just pain.

“Fuck. Sam.”

My little brother is going to fuck me to death.

“Fuck.”

His arms are iron bars around my chest. He is trying to squeeze the air out of my lungs while he splits me in half. 

There’s no way to explain this kind of pain. Sweat pouring out all over. And Sam not moving, just whining like a wounded puppy. It probably hurts him, too. Now, he’s sobbing. He bites down on my shoulder like he’s trying to take a chunk out of me. It’s still nothing next to the fucking fire in my ass. 

There’s nothing I can do but gnaw a fucking hole in my lip and pray it ends soon. I squeeze my eyes shut and take the pain and Sam’s motionless rage. He just hangs there with his dick and his teeth deep in me. He doesn’t even make it all the way inside before he’s coming. Twitching and whimpering, sobbing and spasming so violently, it hurts like hell. Inside and out.

God knows, I deserve it.


	9. God and Sinners Reconciled

SAM

I skulk through the hallways with my chin to my chest. Hand bandaged.  
I feel dangerous and dark. Dense and sharp.  
I hear them whisper. Fuck them all.  
Jessica calls my name. I don’t even turn my head. If she comes close to me, I’ll snap her like a twig and enjoy doing it.

DEAN

I rub my hands together and blow on them. Doesn’t help much. My shoulders hunch forward as I watch the kids at a playground. Every frozen cell in my body screams that I should not be here.

A small hand tucks itself into mine and Theo drags me over to the swings. “Push me.”

“It’s cold, kid.” It’s fucking arctic, but I hoist the kid onto the swing and teach him out to pump his legs.

Cassie smiles over from where she’s spinning the twins on a tilt-o-whirl kind of thing. She calls over, “Five more minutes.”

“Aw.” Theo starts to complain.

“Your mama says something, you say, ‘Yes ma’am.’”

He frowns up at me, but eventually repeats, “Yes ma’am.”

Good kid.

Cassie folds Ella and Miles into their stroller and rolls them over beside where I’ve taken a step back to watch how Theo does on his own.

“Listen…” I still feel like I ought to say something.

Before I can figure out what it should be, Cassie interrupts. She doesn’t even look at me. “I feel safe with you. Am I safe with you, Dean?”

“Yeah.”

“And Theo?”

“Yeah. Theo is safe with me.” I’m pretty sure I would take a bullet for the kid. For all of them, actually.

She nods, considering it. “And I believe that. There's not anything Gordon can tell me that's gonna make me not believe it.”

“Maybe…” God, I don’t want to do this.

She just doesn't have any idea. She keeps watching Theo like this kid has all the answers to everything.

“Maybe it would be better if Gordon does tell you. Then, you can decide for yourself.”

She watches Theo. He’s humming to himself. Jingle Bells.

“Maybe it would be better if I told you.”

“That's up to you, Dean.”

Of course, it’s up to me. Who the hell else would it be up to? How am I supposed to say this? Yeah, so, I used to fuck my little brother. Now, he fucks me. Subtler will be better.  
“I made a lot of dumb choices when I was a kid. Did some bad things. One in particular, that got me sent away for a while.”

“You don't have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“I want to.” I don’t want to, but I have to. Cassie is my only friend. She has a right to know this, even if it means she takes herself and the kid out of my life for good. “When I was 17, I was caught ... with this kid. Messing around with this kid. He was a lot younger and I had no business doing what I did. I know that now. I got help for it and everything.”

“How old was he. The kid?

“13.”

Cassie watches Theo for a while. “Why did you do it? Was it some kind of power trip?”

I shake my head. “No. Nothing like that. I was just in love with him.”

She looks up at me for the first time and puts out her hand for me to hold. Like I’m one of her kids. I take it. It doesn’t make sense how warm it is. She rests her head on my shoulder. “We don't have a tree yet? Wanna help us pick one out? Only if you want to.”

“Gordon?” The guy’s an asshole, but he’s not a monster. And he’s right to be concerned for his family. Maybe that even means he’s okay.

“Left this morning. 4 weeks on the road.”

“He doesn't want me around, Cassie.”

“But I do.”

 

SAM

The light hurts my eyes when the door finally opens. I’ve been sitting in the dark, waiting, for so long. When Dean sees me, he just stands there, looking at me.

“Where were you?” My own voice sounds strange to me. Strained, deep and far away.

He strolls into the kitchenette, gets himself a beer and plops down on the mini-fridge. About as far away from me as possible. "Only three shopping days left, Sammy. What you and the Singers got planned?"

I stomp across the room and jerk him up by his shirt. “You got off work four hours ago. Where the fuck have you been, Dean?”

I grab his hair and jerk his head back, exposing that beautiful neck. I could rip his fucking throat out with my teeth. I think it would be very easy.

DEAN

“What are you going to do, Sam? Fuck me bloody again?”

He lets me go.

“Hey. I’m not mad at you. Sammy.”

Sam stumbles a few more steps back and drops himself back into a chair. He covers his eyes with one palm. His hands are so huge. His chin is trembling.

“I'm not. Okay?” Carefully, like you would approach an unpredictable dog, I touch his shoulder. “I don't blame you. It was never your…”

SAM

“Stop.” I do not want to hear this. I might throw up.

“I should have …”

“Don't say anything else. Please.” I can’t listen to him apologize. Say how sorry he is to have ever touched me.

He starts to clean up the beer that just spilled. “I think you broke my ass.”

Is he really making jokes? Does he not know how serious this is?

“Was it like that when we... when I…”

“No. Never. You were always … gentle. Patient. I…” I don’t want to lose it. I’m going to lose it. I’m going to throw up on the floor and have a complete meltdown. The bile is bitter on my tongue. There's a stabbing pain in my chest.

“Okay." Dean nods. "New topic. I just ... wanted to be sure.”

“You were a good lover.” I look away. Dean’s not going to like it if I cry. My breath catches in my throat. I think it’s too late. I already am. Fucking tears. "I'm sorry. I miss you. I thought... Always thought when you got back that we would ... that everything would be the same. It's not, is it? Ever going to be the same as it was.”

He shakes his head.

“Because you don't find me attractive anymore.” Something hacks at me from inside my chest.

“That is not true.” Dean actually moves a little towards me.

“But you don't really.”

“Sam, the simple fact that we're having this conversation. This is not normal.”

“Fuck normal.” I think that will be my new mantra. Fuck normal. Fuck normal.

“Yeah. And that's not a healthy attitude.”

“I don't think I'm very healthy, Dean.”

“You’re fine. You're gonna be fine.”

“I don't think so, Dean. I think I'm a little bit fucked in the head. A little bit.” I tap on my forehead. There’s this hollow sound. Like a ripe melon. Maybe there’s nothing in there at all.

“And that's probably my fault.”

DEAN

Out of nowhere, Sam screams, “IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT!” Then, just as quietly as you please, he repeats. “It's not your fault. I started this. I fucking made you feel like you had to ... like I was going to fucking die if you didn’t just…”

SAM

I step toward him. I can’t not.

He holds up his hands to keep distance between us. But I have to touch him. Just one more time, I have to. I wrap my hand around his neck. Trace my thumb over his lips. God. Oh God. “Let me kiss you.”

He turns his head away, “Sam.”

“Just. Please.” I have to kiss him.

DEAN

I close the space between us. And it’s good. As good as it ever was. He tastes so good. Smells so good. Feels so good. Like he always did.

SAM

But it’s not the same, because one moment he’s kissing me, with his fist in my hair. His other palm pressing against the small of my back. Trying to pull me closer. And I can feel him getting hard. So hard for me. I can feel how much he wants me.

Then, just like that, he’s gone. Yanking away. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Glaring at me like I’m the ugliest, filthiest thing he’s ever seen.

“Sammy, I…”

“It's okay. It's okay, Dean. I'm not the same as I was. I know that. I'm fucking huge and I can't stop growing. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to burst out of my skin and…” I swipe at the snot rolling over my lips.

“You're beautiful, Sam. More beautiful now than you ever were.”

Why is he saying that? He doesn’t mean it. “You don't have to say that.” Why is he saying that?

“I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true. Yes, you are getting fucking huge. And…"

“You don't want me around. And I can't stay away from you.”

“Sam. I don't want you around because ... dammit, you know I want you. How could you not know that? How could you think that was ever going to change? You're the fucking love of my life.”

Like a magnet, like a moth, my body starts to move toward him again. This time, Dean backs away. He leaps over the mattress to get away from me.

DEAN

“You're also a fucking minor.”

Sam keeps coming, though. Persistent little fucker. “In three years. Two and a half…”

“You'll still be my brother, Sam. You will still deserve better.”

“No one is better than you.”

“You deserve better than hiding and feeling ashamed.” I’m literally running all around this tiny apartment, trying to dodge him. It’s only mildly ridiculous.

He stops cold. “I don't feel ashamed. Do you? You feel ashamed of me?”

“Not of you, Sam. Never of you.”

“Then, what?”

“Of myself. That you walk in the door and I ... I’m on the verge of… I just want to…"

“What?”

Of course, he has to hear me say it. Fucking sadistic, little fucker. “Do things I shouldn’t.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t ask me that. You already know.”

“Why shouldn't you?”

“God damn it, Sam… because it's illegal for one thing. It’s immoral for another thing.”

“That's bullshit.”

“Okay, well bullshit or not…"

SAM

My heart, my body, everything in me is still reaching out for him, but I won’t chase him anymore. “You're saying we'll never be together. That’s the bottom line, right? Whether you want me or not. No matter how much I want you. I’m never going to have you like I did back then.”

“No, Sam. We’re not going back there. We’re not going to be those love starved, fucked up kids again. You are going to be the star quarterback. You’re going to go to California, like you always wanted. Be some hotshot doctor or lawyer or some shit like that. Whatever you want to be. Me? I’m going to … I don’t know what I’m going to do, other than leave you the fuck alone. Let you go.”

“What if I don’t want…"

“I’m not giving you a choice on this one, Sam. This one is my call.”

“You’re not going to change your mind?”

He shakes his head. Solemn as a funeral. Lips pursed into a thin line.

“I can't let them keep us apart, Dean.”

“It's not them. It's not them, Sam. I don't want to be this guy. I don't want to be the pervert who fucks his little brother. It's bad enough I can't stop thinking about you. It's bad enough the things I want to do to you. Always. But I'm not. I'm never going to do that again.”

“You never will, will you?” I look at my hands. Useless. I couldn’t stop it this time, either.

Dean shakes his head. “No. I swear it. I love you.”

“But not all the way anymore.” I’ve heard it enough to know it’s true. I’ve heard enough to know what I have to do. "I’m not going to go back to being without you. I can’t.” I pull the gun from my back. It’s heavy. Heavier than when I put it in, I think. A small chuckle escapes my mouth. I cover it with my other hand. “I thought you had a girlfriend.”

DEAN

This kid and that gun. I swear. I told him to ditch it. If he’s not careful, he’s going to hurt himself.

“I don't... have a girlfriend, Sam. I don’t even know what I would do with a girlfriend right now.”

He sniffs and nods, staring down at the weapon. “That's probably best.”

SAM

Half of me cocks it. The other half stands three feet away, watching me train the gun on my brother’s beautiful face. All of me knows that I don’t have a choice.

Dean says my name as if it was a command. Tells me to put it down. I lower it to his heart.

It’s louder than I expected. Dean stumbles backward. Gapes down at the tiny hole in his shirt. Says my name again, but it’s a question this time.

My ears ring and my hand buzzes.

I lay down beside my brother, curl up under his arm. Lay my head on his chest. It’s different, though. Used to be, I would listen to the beating. Feel the rise and fall until I’d sink off to sleep. It's still now, and silent.

Nothing is the same now. This time, I’m going with him. I put the barrel in my mouth. The metal burns my lips, but it won’t for long.


End file.
